


A Winter in New York

by nextraordinaire



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Canon Jewish Character, Coming of Age, Developing Relationship, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Holidays, M/M, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Teenagers, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 35,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nextraordinaire/pseuds/nextraordinaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Erik have been childhood friends for as long as they can remember  – Erik, living with his mother in Queens, and Charles in the big mansion in Westchester. For all, expect themselves, it was just natural progression that they'd end up together.</p><p>A series of ficlets from the same universe – can be read as separate and are out of chronological order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rockefeller

**Author's Note:**

> I started this this challenge last year, but for reasons I wasn't able to finish. The two first chapters are already posted here as their own works, but I thought it'd be nice to gather them all in the same place. All the chapters are sort of standalone ficlets, set in the same universe during the same time-period, but not in chronological order!
> 
> P.S. The challenge was quite Christmas-oriented, but I have tweaked the prompts so that Erik (and Kitty!) are included without compromising their Judaism.

Charles was short.

Erik knew this, in the same way he knew that Charles was pale, mutant and freckled. He’d known it ever since he’d hit his first growth spurt during summer break in eighth grade and come back from that one-time vacation in Florida not just tanned, but also towering nearly a head over his best friend.

Charles had given his gangly limbs longing looks for about a year, but that had stopped when  he’d finished puberty. Through the years, their height difference was just as big as it had been after that first summer, and while Erik had physically grown into his long limbs, Charles had grown into his shortness like few people managed. Sure, he compensated a lot – his ego was simply too big to fit into his limited space – but he was comfortable, always sure of his movements and generally in full control of his body.

Which was why Charles was still standing up, perfectly balanced and laughing so hard tears were streaming out of his eyes while Erik was the one wriggling around on the ice for the umpteenth time that evening.

“I hate you,” Erik grumbled as he shakily got one knee up, hands braced in front of him.

“’Magneto – master of magnetism! The most powerful mutant in the world! Beaten by skates!”

 “Shut up, you telepathetic asshole,” Erik shot back, flushing at the childhood nickname he’d given himself in a flare of hubris. He put a little more effort into getting up, only to topple onto his ass again, letting out a string of curses his mother would not be proud of.

A few girls from the other side of the rink turned their heads, giggling behind colorful mittens.

Still laughing, his blue eyes all but sparkling in time with the fairy lights overhead, Charles came over, skating with sharp, precise skates. He made a perfect hockey stop right by Erik’s incredibly bruised tailbone.

“I’ll help you up. But only if you ask nicely,” he said, grinning, his cheeks rosy with the cold.

Erik only shot him a dark look.

In his latest fall, his knitted cap had fallen off, spinning away a few feet on the ice. Charles, still smiling wide, skated over and easily bent down to pick it up. His jeans – a pair that Erik very much knew Raven had deemed ‘indecent for public appearances’ – stretched tight over his backside as his pea coat rode up.

As he felt his anger fade away, replaced by something else  _entirely_ , Erik quickly looked down at his tightly laced skates.

When Charles had asked him if he wanted to go skating, Erik had agreed in thought it’d be simple, despite the fact that he’d never stood on a pair of skates in his life. But if kids could do it, then Erik definitely could. The blades were metal after all, so it would be no match at all.

How wrong he’d been; he’d never been more black and blue.

Turning around without so much as a wobble, Charles triumphantly skated back with the hat in hand. “Here,” he said, reaching out the handmade thing Edie had forced onto his head before he went out, nagging about pneumonia and all there was.

Erik snatched it back, pressing it down over his hot ears.

 “You’re welcome,” Charles said and tilted his head, smile fonder now as he looked down were Erik was hopelessly stuck. “Do you need help up?”

 “Yes. Please,” Erik muttered, as any silver of dignity he might still have left within him, shriveled up and died.

Charles stretched out his mitten-clad hand and very carefully, Erik hauled himself onto his skates. He wobbled slightly once he was up, but Charles’ hand on his elbow kept him upright.

Together, they then shuffled over to the rink were the line to the renting booth passed. Children, couples and a few teenagers their own age were all talking excitedly, huddling together for warmth as they waited to get skates before their exhales got too thick with cold. Erik watched them, before his eyes flitted longingly to the hot cocoa stand. His fingertips were freezing, and his toes were all but ice cubes in the damned skates, all which would be helped by drinking something hot, smooth and sweet.

Linking his arm with Erik’s, Charles tugged lightly. “Come on; let’s go a tour.”

He turned to skate away, but Erik stood stubbornly still. His limbs still felt too long and clumsy, like they had during all of ninth grade, and he was certain he was going to fall any minute. Every skate he tried was stiff and the blades were not cooperating in the slightest. In fact, touching them with his sense had only made his falls even more severe.

All the while Charles skated as if he was born on them, not having to struggle at all. When people looked at him, they did it with awe. When they looked at Erik, they just laughed.

Like always.

Certainly picking up on his prickly thoughts, Charles turned around, eyebrows knitted. “Something on your mind?”

“Can we go home?” Erik muttered, looking mulishly down at the ice.

Charles tilted his head. “We’ve paid for an hour. It would be quite wasteful to skip off after fifteen minutes.”

Erik crossed his arms over his chest, feeling heat spread up his cheeks again – both in embarrassment and indignation.

“It’s a damn waste anyway – I can’t even skate,” he spit out after a long moment. “This was a waste of time. I’m going home.”

Turning his back to Charles, he flung out a hand to clutch at the edge of the rink and started to shuffle towards the exit.

Used to the skate as he was, Charles easily caught up with him before he’d gotten very far. He did one of those abrupt stops, efficiently blocking Erik’s way to freedom.

“Erik.” Charles’s voice was gentle, his eyes big and confused.

His hand landed as always on Erik’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. And even though Erik knew he should shake it off, he didn’t.

“I know you can’t skate,” Charles started. “You said you’d never been to a rink before, and honestly, it’s quite different from taking a tour on the lake, even if you’d done that before. But now I know you haven’t, and no matter what you can do with your powers, it has all to do with balance. That’s why it’s easier to learn as a kid – just like riding the bike.”

Charles came a bit closer, sliding an arm around Erik’s elbow again.

“So what if you’re not ready to take off the training wheels off yet? Everyone has to learn somehow.”

“I shouldn’t need them,” Erik said, but it came out weaker than he planned.

“I’ll be your support wheels, okay?”

Erik just stared at him, feeling that familiar ache in his chest like clockwork.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Charles said, laughing gently and raised a hand to briskly brush Erik’s hair out of where it’d fallen into his eyes. “If we go for a tour, I’ll pay for the cocoa later.”

“I never said I wanted cocoa.”

“Well, you projected quite badly when you eyed that truck. But it’s all right – I was planning on it anyways.”

Looking up from his hands, Erik gave him a self-deprecating smile. “I’m not your charity case, Charles.”

“Maybe not, but I want to treat you. See it as a return of favor for letting me take you out here. Besides, what sort of date would this be if we didn’t have hot cocoa,” Charles smiled quickly – a small, secret one only meant for Erik to see – before he leant up and promptly kissed him.

Erik stiffened, completely paralyzed.

“It’s a  _date?_ ”

“Yes?” Charles said, pleased look fading. "I thought that it was – I mean, I didn't invite anyone else and –"

He almost looked like was about to lean even further away, so Erik grabbed his scarf and promptly pulled him back in, so close their noses were all but touching. "No, no. I want it to be."

Charles’ smile was blinding at that. Pushing forward, he erased the small space between their lips and kissed Erik again, this time with purpose. And Erik could only hold his breath as the dreams of the last three years materialized in the matter of a second. Charles’ lips were just as soft and full as they looked – and Erik had spent many an hour staring at them – so it was almost a crime to not kiss him back.

So Erik did.

Immediately, he felt Charles smile against his lips as arms wound around him waist. He carefully brought up a hand to card through the hairs at Charles’ nape, feeling warm on the inside despite how the sub-ten air around them made his knees ache.

They pulled away only when a wolf-whistle cut through the murmur.

For a moment, Charles just looked at him, eyes wide and so happy that it made Erik’s heart ache. He could feel the soft projection, that soft silvery light that sometimes filled his mind whenever Charles’ control slipped. It felt like the first snow on your face and coming in after a day in the cold at the same time, and Erik felt the cold hole the humiliation had left in his stomach slowly filling up.

Charles smiled his not-so-secret smile again, eyes hopeful.

“So, is that yes to a tour? The cocoa is on, either way.”

There was a teasing note in Charles’ voice that Erik was immensely grateful for. He shrugged. “Fine,” he muttered, flushing despite his best efforts not to.

But the corners of Charles’ eyes crinkled and he took Erik’s hands in his nonetheless. “Come on then, you grump,”

“Shut up, midget,” Erik shot back weakly, to which Charles just laughed, silvery and pleased.

Hands locked together, Charles then took off, pulling Erik with him from the rink and towards the middle of the ice. Erik still felt as if he’d fall any moment, but as Charles sped up, going faster and faster through the throngs of people in the big rink, it felt as if it was worth it.

If Charles would keep him upright, then Erik would keep him happy, for as long as he could.

 


	2. Cinnamon

After school, they mostly headed home to Erik and the draughty apartment he and Edie shared back in Queens. It was a nice place, albeit a bit cramped and the pipes had a habit of clanking and pinging when the temperatures dropped, but it was homey and Edie wore a big welcoming smile on her face whenever Charles came over. It also didn’t hurt that there were always some homemade leftovers in the fridge when they came back from a long day.

Edie and Erik wasn’t poor, but each month they both had to turn every penny carefully. Charles knew this more than well and made a point not to flaunt with anything or talk about mother’s banquets and fancy parties - which he didn’t care for, anyways. Mostly, Charles just tried not to invite Erik back to the mansion too often. But sometimes, especially when she’d gotten horribly drunk, or Kurt had done something yet again unforgivable, it was hard to remember his own rule, since Erik didn’t make a big deal out of his own struggles.

But from time to time, when Edie was ill and had forbidden Erik to bring Charles with him, they inevitably had to go back Charles’ place instead.

It was the first week of December, yet the maids had already decorated the banisters, stairs and every available surface with candles, tinsel, angels and all the sorts that one associated with Christmas. Thankfully, the kitchen only had a few candlesticks and some tinsel, so when they’d peeled off their coats and scarves, Charles dragged Erik in there, to spare him from the abundance of blatant falseness around the house.

Erik spread out homework on the table and fished his reading glasses out of his bag, while Charles put on the kettle – which incidentally was one of the three kitchen utensils, together with the microwave and the oven that he knew how to operate - on the stove.

Outside, the winds had stilled down into something mellow and cold. Westchester’s grounds were now a monochromatic landscape painted with shadows of grey and white and darkening in time with the overcast sky despite it being barely four in the afternoon.

Charles sighed, dipping the tea strainers into the scalding water. It really didn’t matter what religion you did have – if you had any at all – fact still stood: if you lived on the Northern hemisphere, you desperately needed the light this time of year, otherwise you’d go crazy.

When the tea had steeped long enough that a mild scent of cinnamon hung in the air, he sat down at the table again right across from Erik.

“Here you go,” he said, quietly. With a nod Erik pushed his reading glasses into his hair and took a big swig from the mug.

“This is good."

Charles beamed at him. “Good. It’s Raven’s blend.”

“She’s got good taste,” Erik said, and all of Charles’ self-restraint went to not reach out his hand and brush that unruly lock of hair that never failed to fall into Erik’s eyes.

“She does,” Charles replied, taking a swig himself and pulled out his calculus homework. He’d finished most of it in school, but there were still a set of word problems at the end he hadn’t dealt with.

Erik heaved a sigh before he pushed down the thick-rimmed glasses onto his nose again and went back to his work. His long fingered hands wrote with small, boxed letters and he held the mechanical pen with a gentle grip that was one of those rare signs of softness that Charles knew he was one of the few lucky to witness.

Some would carelessly claim that  Erik was nothing but wild burning rage, and while Charles couldn’t say it  _didn’t_  monopolize him from time to time – like that one time when Erik had thrown their Soc-Sci text book at Mr. Stryker with such force it had broken his nose – it simply wasn’t all there was to him. Charles wasn’t sure if he was the only one beside Edie to see it because Erik wanted it that way, but he wasn’t complaining. At the end of the day, it just made him feel warm inside, thinking Erik valued him so highly he’d dropped his defenses and let Charles take a peek behind those mile-high walls of prickly exterior.

Behind them, Charles knew Erik was passionate, dedicated in an almost obsessed way. That never-ending fire was essentially also the root for all his violence and anger management problems, since it could blow up in the matter of seconds and conquer anything in its vicinity. But Charles had also felt it in a much softer light. When it was directed towards Edie or Charles himself, it was almost dizzying. To see yourself bathed in such warm light, to be so utterly and fully  _adored_  – it was enough to make you want to become a better person.

Feeling a slight tug in his chest, Charles studied Erik’s stern face. He was frowning, mumbling, and Charles decided to indulge in his earlier wish. Gently, he reached out to tuck the wisp of hair behind Erik’s ear, making Erik’s head jerk up.

“What are you doing?”

Smiling, Charles leant in over the table, making the edge of it cut into his stomach. “How’s it going?”

“Just finished,” Erik said and he smiled, mouth opening like a zipper. He leant in too, cinnamon breath brushing over Charles’ lips.

Charles was just about to push forward that last little bit, when a loud flurry of blue skidded into the kitchen. They fell out of each other’s space immediately.

“Jesus Christ, it’s so freaking cold in here!” Raven exclaimed, not seeming to realize that she’d upended their moment completely. “I need something warm in me pronto. Oh, and hi Erik.”

Charles was quite certain Erik didn’t realize how utterly devastated he looked. “Hi,” he muttered back.  Charles couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at that, to which Erik shot him a dark look.

“I’ve got three sweaters on, and I’m still chattering teeth. My nipples are like diamonds,” Raven said, and clattered around a little more, pulling milk out of the fridge, poured a helping of it into a saucepan which then put on the stove. Some spices and cinnamon sticks went in once it had started to boil, followed by starch and flakes of a cone shaped sugar, plus big heaps of chocolate.

It took only a few minutes, and then she dumped her sweater-bundled self into the seat beside him, mug in hand and the rest still simmering on the stove.

“Hope I didn’t interrupt something, you guys,” she said, grinning cheekily and took a deep swig of her champurrado, which she had to fight to get down, “but it is absolutely freezing upstairs – and mmm, this is good. Wanna taste?”

“No, we’re fine,” Charles said when she slid the mug towards him, barely keeping his face straight as Erik tapped his pencil against the table, still looking rather sullen.

Waggling her eyebrows, Raven looked at him over the edge of her mug. “Are you really?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

Raven rolled her eyes and pointed upwards. “Because you’re sitting right below the mistletoe, dumb-dumb?”

Tilting his head to look above, Charles saw that indeed had the maids decided that it was perfect to hang the mistletoe from the lamp above, catching unsuspecting victims with an impudent ease.

“Oh,” was all he said, looking over at Erik, who was just slowly shaking his head.

Pulling her chair out, Raven slapped her thighs once. “You’re welcome. Well, I’m going to play some Assassin’s Creed now,” she then said, once again breaking their moment. “Have fun.”

With that, she swished out just as quickly as she’d stormed in, drink sloshing dangerously in her mug. Charles looked after her, until Erik’s fingertips on his jaw reclaimed his attention.

“I think we were in the middle of something,” Erik said, sultry and his eyes all but sparkling.

“But doesn’t this – “

“Doesn’t matter. I can kiss you wherever I want. Need no plant to dictate me.”

Leaning back in, Charles gladly closed his eyes and let Erik kiss him, there in their kitchen, under the mistletoe with the smell of champurrado still simmering on the stove.

 


	3. Like All Other Years

The years when the first snow was weak, New York rejected it before it even gave it a proper chance.

The thin, small flakes barely had time to reach the ground before the violent rhythm, grooved wheels and feet beat it down into a grey-brown sludge that sloshed onto sidewalks like waves whenever a taxi or car passed.  Every surface – from sidewalks to subway stairs – became wet and dirty, as if someone had given the city a shower but forgotten the soap.

If Erik ever found New York ugly, today was definitely one of those days. It looked almost like he felt and the only thing that could save it, was a thick layer of unadulterated white. Thus, since it was a Saturday, it was the perfect day to hole up in his room with his back towards the window and finish up the last few assignments for winter break.

Ever since the incident with the book -- which had been completely justified -- Stryker had, not unsurprisingly went out to make Erik’s life as difficult as possible. As punishment apart from the one-week suspension, Erik had to duplicate every oral report into a three-thousand word argumentative essay to hand in, since he was, according to Stryker, too violent to participate in the debates – something which simply wasn’t true, since Debate class with Ms. Munroe worked  _perfectly fine_.

He had everything ready; coffee black as death by his left elbow, stack of reference books by his right and one of the blankets from the living room swept over his shoulders. He’d been on the verge of a cold for almost a week, head stuffed and fuzzy, but for all that the radiators were snapping and gurgling like dying men, they couldn’t keep the seeping cold at bay.

But he’d lived and survived here for seventeen years, so he’d manage this one too. Besides, if you looked closely enough, there were some benefits to the bone-gripping chill. Like the fact that Erik’s poor laptop didn’t have to hiss and whir quite as loudly as usual in its desperate attempts not to let the exhausted processor become overheated. As he typed, getting angrier and angrier because of the subject matter, he constantly had to clench his fists to help the sluggish blood flow into his hands, but it also meant that he passed the word count without problem.

He was almost done when he heard the bell ring out in the hallway, immediately followed by his mother’s warm greeting and a replying chuckle.

Erik only knew one person in the entire world who still  _chuckled_.

Before he could get out his chair though, there was a knock on his door. Twisting his hand, Erik opened it, ignoring the spike in his headache it caused to let Charles' body slip through the gap.

“I’ll have you know that it’s  _not nice_  out,” Charles said, dropping his bag on the floor as if the hooks behind the door didn’t exist. “It’s slush everywhere – my boots are soaked through. It’s impossible to get anywhere without getting wet.”

Taking his eyes of the soon-to-be-done essay, Erik raised his eyebrows. “You walked here?”

He felt more than saw Charles smile, sensed it like a warm, silver blue curl around his left temple. “Only from the subway. You don’t need to get a taxi for that short bit.”

“No,” Erik said.

There was a pause, then Charles suddenly pulled his chair back with a yank. Holding up his hands to save them from toppling over backwards, Erik then found himself with a lap full of short, sweater-bundled telepath.

“You’re done with that, aren’t you?” Charles said, one knee lazily hooked over the armrest of Erik’s dilapidating swivel chair, the other foot resting on the floor as he cocked his head toward the monitor.

Erik just sighed. “Not really.”

Charles tilted his head up, looking decidedly innocent. “When it’s due?”

“Monday,” Erik said, carding one hand through Charles hair and brushing out the snowflakes still lingering there. “It’s for Stryker.”

Charles hummed at that, purring almost as a cat at the touch on his sensitive scalp. “He still insists on that thing? You can always go to Worthington,” he murmured, distractedly rubbing his cheek against Erik’s collarbone. “They have a policy for a reason. Besides, they  _will_  know if he comes up with some inadequate reason.”

“Like that’ll help,” Erik said as he dragged the chair back into its exit position by the bolts in the seat. “I did break his nose.”

“Which you’re proud of,” Charles said, sighing.

Erik wasn’t going to deny it. It had been the most satisfying experience in his life.

“Howlett will have your back. Ms. Munroe too,” Charles continued, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “She’s been a mutant rights lobbyist, you know?”

“I know,” Erik said honestly, reaching out his hand to down the last dregs of his forgotten coffee. It tasted awful by now, but it went down easily enough.

In his lap, Charles tipped his head down a bit, baring the smooth skin of his nape, “I’m just saying that you have some fierce people on your side, if you want. He was sprouting slurs and antagonizing you.”

“Yeah,” Erik said quietly, staring at his arguments like they’d come alive on the page like they did on his tongue, before he took a deep breath, which ended up in some sort of hybrid between a huff and a sigh. “I guess I do.”

Charles hummed in reply and patted the back of his hand against Erik’s chest “So don’t to worry about it,” he said, before he slid off his lap with a surprising ease.

“I won’t.”

“Good,” Charles said, “Because I’ve got the Marathon movies.”

That threw Erik off-guard. “Tonight?”

“Raven is out Christmas shopping with Angel and Emma,” Charles started, shrugging, and then continued in what he probably thought was an offhanded manner, “Besides, Kurt’s home the whole weekend too.”

Every year since they’d been old enough to rule over their own time, they’d arranged movie marathons. A long standing tradition was the Special Holiday Marathons, which essentially always happened whenever Charles desperately needed to get out of the mansion because Raven was off somewhere else and staying out there with those people was just the most depressing thing.

Sending Charles a stern look, coupled with a burst of _you are not going home tonight you hear me_  in Charles’ direction, Erik said, “You’re staying here.”

“Hadn’t planned on anything else,” Charles replied softly, looking bashfully at the worn carpet, before he turned to stretch his arms over his head, working out the cricks in his spine.

The motion made his two layers of sweaters plus undershirt ride up and reveal an inch of pale, smooth stomach and hip just above his belt – an inch that Emma once had claimed was ‘boy cleavage’ – that made Erik’s breath hitch a bit in his throat. Caught in habit, he almost looked away, before he remembered that he actually was allowed to stare as much as he wanted.

Charles let out a little sigh when his spine popped quietly. He threw a look over his shoulder, catching Erik’s eyes. “You know, I know it when you’re staring.”

Erik just grinned. “I’m allowed.”

“You are indeed,” Charles said, snatching his bag from the floor before he leant down and kissed Erik on the temple. “I’ll head out and start this up so you can go over those for the fifty-eleventh time,” he then said, waving a selection of DVDs in Erik’s face.

“It doesn’t hurt to be thorough!” Erik shouted after him, to which Charles only laughed in reply before he slipped out the door again.

“Never said it was!”

He gave the sources and their hyperlinks one last glance, before deciding he had better things to do. Erik saved the document and slammed his laptop shut.

Out in the tiny living room, Charles had already poured himself down in the couch together with another set of the blankets. Erik followed suit, sitting down with his head resting on Charles’ shoulder. The warmth radiating from his neck warmed the cold tip of Erik’s nose, and he dragged in a long breath, making the scent of Charles settle deep in his lungs like dust.

“What do we start with?” Erik mumbled.

Charles tilted his head to widen the angle of his neck and shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“What have you got?”

“ _Lord of the Rings_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Star Wars_ , the usual,” Charles said, flinging a part of his blanket over Erik’s thighs. “Anything goes.”

“Let’s go for Harry Potter then,” Erik said, settling in more closely to Charles, feeling the beat of his heart under his ear, the rush of the sweet iron in his blood.

“ _Harry Potter_ it is,” Charles said, and after disposing Erik’s head on the backrest, he slid the cd into the slot before coming back. Feeling lazy, Erik didn’t stop him from using the remote to start the movie.

It was still light out as they watched Voldemort appear at the back of Quirell’s head, but when Charles put on Chamber of Secrets, the darkness was slowly creeping in outside the windows, calling out for artificial light. In response, they lit the two block candles Edie had bought a long time ago, making the dark room bathe in a soft, flickering glow. It made the shadows move lethargically and everything took on an almost hypnotic pulse, slow and content.

Erik looked into the flickering flames, wondering why everything felt just like it had all other years, and still so completely different.

Charles was breathing slowly by his ear – soft, relaxed breaths that rolled in time with the focused, silver blue waves of his mind. Lifting his feet from the cold floor, Erik leant even more of his weight onto Charles. First, Charles just followed with the pressure, but then he wound an arm around Erik’s waist, pulling him closer.

And somewhere around there, Erik fell asleep.

He jerked awake to the inevitable sound of a police sirens, and found himself with his nose buried in Charles’ stomach, the scent and warmth of him enveloping him like a cocoon. The candles had burned down during the night, and particularly pale morning light filtered in through the windows.

It was way too greyish white, like it only became when –  

Untangling himself from Charles’ curled up and snoring form, Erik quickly swept the blanket around his shoulders as armor against the cold and went to the window, looking out at the street below with a smile sitting in his throat.

Because below, everything was covered in a thick blanket of unadulterated white.

 


	4. War Trophy

_ARE **YOU**  UP FOR THE CHALLENGE?_

_The Youth MPE calls **ALL** mutant students to the football field for _

**_WESTCHESTER HIGH’S ULTIMATE SNOWBALL FIGHT!_ **

_DECEMBER 4 TH @ 1 PM_

**_Sign up at the reception today!_ **

_Any questions? Send an email to[emma.frost@wchs.org](mailto:emma.frost@wchs.org)_

_P.S. Powers are allowed and encouraged!_

 

The flyers – which were the product of Erik’s color scheme and Angel’s word choice – had been all over the school for the past week. There was nowhere to escape them. They had been put up the colorful posters on all available surfaces (enabled by magnetic paperclips), thrust into your hands during lunch breaks and slipped into lockers of every known mutant student in the school.

That was until they’d gotten a reprimand for emptying the magenta ink cartridge in the library printer. Thereafter, the flyers had sadly been in black and white only.

Interest had seemed to be lukewarm at first, and there had been some worry about whether or not they could still hold it. But then, the last few days before - one as late as the morning before - almost a dozen applications rattled in, very much to Emma Frost’s annoyance.

An Emma Frost who looked about half as intimidating as she usually did where she stood in front of them, all bundled up in all white outwear and a knitted hat with honest to God tassels on it.

To be perfectly honest, she didn’t look wholly unlike the Michelin man. Charles carefully kept that thought to himself though, not even sharing it with Erik. Because even from inside all that fluff, Emma’s frosty eyes were still as sharp and deadly as they always were.

“So,” she said, looking out over the forty-odd mutant teens that had gathered on the field. It was snowing lightly, as it had been all day, and the ground was covered in a protective layer that would save everyone involved from sustainable injuries. There was also a tight chill in the air, and Charles would have been chattering his teeth, hadn’t Erik stood pressed up beside him like a grinning, personal radiator.

“You’ve all gotten colors when you signed up, right?” Emma said, voice slightly enhanced by the echo in their minds. When the crowd answered with a resounding ‘yes!’ Charles saw that she smiled, a quick twitch in her jaw.

“Good. That is your team.” she continued, “You get to protect yourselves with your hands only. Any other place and you’re dead. Before we start, either team will get ten minutes to build a wall, then we start the first round. No extensions. There will be three rounds of ten minutes, three minutes to talk tactics in between. The first team to admit defeat loses. If there is no retreat, then it’s the team which has the most of their players still up. Use of powers is limited to three times during the game. Any questions?”

The students on the field all nodded and Emma clapped her hands once. “So let’s start!”

As the students started to scatter, Erik looked down at him, smiling so wide every tooth in his head was visible. It really was a miracle how he could pull that off, so instead of scary, it was simply a bit too much.

“Good luck,” Charles said, shuffling his feet.

“Good luck,” Erik replied, planted a quick peck on Charles’ forehead before he stalked off to the other end of the field, greeted by a cheer from Armando, Angel and Betsy Braddock.

Looking after Erik, eyes focused on his retreating shoulders, Charles didn’t really pay attention to the building of the wall until someone grabbed his elbow.

“Stop making heart-eyes and lend a hand,” Emma ordered him as she dragged him back to his own camp without giving Charles as much of a chance to protest.

They scooped up as much snow as possible, and had actually managed to create some sort of protection when Sean’s ear-piercing whistle sounded over the field right before snowballs started shooting like projectiles over the edge of walls.

The fight started out with a sort of playful viciousness that only hyper-competitive youngsters can muster, and since Charles neither saw himself as vicious nor competitive, he thought he’d be out quite quick. But half an hour later found him, pressed up against the hastily assembled and now dilapidating wall, hair plastered against his forehead and Kitty breathing heavily on his left.

To his right, Emma was swearing under her breath, ripping off her mittens with her pale eyes blazing.

“Lehnsherr is a fucking hazard!” she growled, her usually perfectly coiffed hair all frizzy with exertion and lingering electrostatics. “He just took Alex down, never leaving from behind that damned wall!”

“I’m out of phasing, too,” Kitty grumbled, dragging a mitten-clad hand over her brow. “I can dodge, but soon some will hit. How many are there left of them?”

“Three,” Charles answered honestly, not counting the ever-present awareness as a use of power. “Erik, Betsy and Armando.”

“So it’s down to a tie,” Emma said, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

“If we can take out either Braddock or Muñoz, our chances increase a lot,” Kitty said, bringing her voice down to a whisper. “Lehnsherr hasn’t left the from behind the wall all round, and I’m pretty sure Betsy is out of force fields. She hasn’t been half as aggressive after she used the latest one.”

“If we hit Armando, he’s hit, no matter what armor he has on,” Emma said, voice low as she gave Charles a quick look. “It could work. Do you have any use of power left?”

Charles nodded. “One.”

“Good. Because here’s an idea,” Emma said, huddling closer, her breath still coming in bursts from her latest dash across the field. “We simply do a flash attack. You freeze Lehnsherr and Muñoz. I don’t think they’ll see it coming, as we are so few left – and without you, Charles, it’s simply just stupid.”

“Can’t we use their real names?” Charles said, smiling. Emma bore her eyes into his.

“Get this in your head, Xavier: they are the enemy. For ten minutes more, you will show no mercy.”

Holding up his hands, Charles nodded and Emma’s hand landed two short pats on his shoulders. Then she turned to Kitty again.

“Pryde, you go after Muñoz. Aim low. He’s wearing those damn yoga pants, so the snow will stick. I’m going after Braddock, and Xavier, you take down your fucking marksman of a boyfriend.”

“Why?” Charles said, slightly apprehensive, just because of said excellent marksmanship.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. You know he won’t hurt you,” she said offhandedly. “Or well, he’ll try, but he’ll hesitate since it’s you. Just do puppy eyes or something.”

Charles decided it was best not to say anything to that.

Emma brushed a lock of hair out her eyes and held up her closed hand.

“Okay, so on three.”

“On three,” Kitty agreed, rearranging her feet under her to get a better grip for a sprint.

Charles gulped in a breath, filling his already thin lungs to the brim and locked eyes with them both before he nodded, too.

Emma’s thumb flipped up. “One,” she mouthed.

Her index finger. “Two.”

“Three!”

Her long finger shot out, and they set off.

Kitty ran off with an amazing speed. Emma too, albeit slightly slower than her. Charles didn’t keep up at all. The thin layer of snow made him lose his footing and almost fall, but then he saw Erik’s head (without a hat, because it had been taken hostage by Angel during the first round) shot up behind their almost intact wall. Remembering the tactic, Charles saved his fall in the same moment he flung out his awareness and seized a grip on the familiar minds of his classmates. As usual, he slipped right through Betsy’s crackling static, but Darwin got caught for a second before he slipped through as well.

But Kitty’s blast of victorious light clearly meant they had taken him down.

Barely dodging a sodden snowball coming from his left, Charles regained his balance and kept on running. He had to let Erik’s bright, metallic mind go after a second, and immediately, Erik ran around the wall to have enough snow to scramble together another snowball.

His face, flushed with excitement and mouth stretched open in vicious glee, reached his arm back to throw it at Charles.

Charles put in his last energy into a sprint. It was a near fall, but he used the extra force to fling himself forward instead, colliding with Erik’s chest and effectively tackling them both to the ground.

The tumbled around in a flurry of limbs, snow getting everywhere. Gasping as it slipped in under the collar of his muffler, Charles locked his elbows to hold his arms straight. Erik’s weight pressed in on him, but somehow he managed to throw his leg over Erik’s hip. With a twist of his torso, Charles then managed to straddle him in the snow, knees steadily planted on the ground. Erik’s hands came up and settled on his hips, and Charles immediately gripped his wrists, holding him fast, before he murmured,

“Dead.”

Erik was grinning just as big as before, eyes gleaming.

“I don’t think this count as a down, Charles,” Erik said, his voice looping around the consonants and made something hot drip down Charles’ spine.

“It doesn’t? You look pretty down to me,” he replied, leaning in a bit.

“It’s physical contact. Only snow counts.”

“You don’t seem to be complaining,” Charles said, deciding to sit back on his heels. Under him, Erik pulled his thigh up and Charles felt the twitch against the inside of his own. He grinned too, feeling light and quivering, as if a sparkler had gone off inside him. A benign pressure was spreading over his chest, and had him grinning even bigger.

Unfortunately, it also distracted him.

A second later, Erik had made some impossible move with his damned leg and Charles’ whole world tilted as he was pushed into the snow, and Erik pressed a clump of snow right over his heart, the wet snow catching in the wool of Charles’ coat.

“Boom. Dead.”

“Gravity-defying asshole,” Charles said without any heat, as he batted all the more angrily at Erik’s hands on his chest.

To that, hips pressing into Charles’, Erik laughed his drawn-in, almost forced-sounding laugh – one that lit up his mind in a flurry of color, like light going through a prism. Charles continued to bat at him, only succeeding in making Erik laugh even harder.

Then, Sean’s whistle sounded over the field again, high and shrilling.

Without taking his eyes off Charles, Erik swiftly got onto his feet. Once up, he looked down, face still flushed with blood and something adoring on his hard features.

Charles lay still, spread-eagle on the trampled ground and the mischievous pressure still hadn’t gone away.

“Come on,” Erik said, his face swimming somewhere above. “We need to figure out who won.”

Charles sighed dramatically. ”I’m sorry, but I cannot. I’m dead.”

“Charles.” Erik was obviously going for stern, but his chest shook with suppressed with laughter. “Get up.”

“I would if I could, dearest,” Charles continued, feeling cheeky as ever. “But you killed me dead.”

“Oh for fuck’s –”

Before Charles had registered that Erik hadn’t even finished the sentence, he’d gone down on one knee, and with swiftness Charles should have been used to, he hauled Charles onto his back, one leg on either side of Erik’s waist. When he was sure Charles hanged on, he started to walk back to where Emma stood in front of remains of the two teams, shaking her head.

“I bear a wounded prisoner of war!” Erik announced, and Charles snickered against his neck as Emma rolled her eyes.

“Wanna trade him for your hat?” Angel shouted, waving the knitted thing in the air like a white flag. “It’ll ensure your victory.”

Erik just shook his head, before he turned to look at Charles. “No, I think I’m going to keep this one. More fun.”

Angel laughed, and Charles bumped his chin into Erik’s shoulder, earning himself that beaming grin once more.

 


	5. Personal Space

For all Erik preached that they were a superior species, he still wasn’t above the common cold. Never mind that it had been six years since Erik last was ill at all - Charles thought it was a perfect example of how alike humans they were at the end of the day. But despite the golden opportunity, Charles wasn’t going to tease him. Or rather, he got struck by a bolt of pity when he entered Erik’s room. Lying in bed, eyes hazy and dim, wearing three sweaters and all of the blankets from the living room, Erik looked so absolutely miserable that all of Charles’ earlier gloat – albeit terribly brief – ran out of him in a rush.

Closing the door behind him, Charles took his bag of his shoulder. “Hello,” he said softly, plumping into the empty office chair, still bundled up in his outwear. “How are you feeling?”

Erik closed his eyes in reply. “Fucking,” he said voice thick and scarred with soreness, “awful.”

“I brought your homework,” Charles grimaced, sending a tick of an apology through Erik’s mind. The normally very efficient and angular place was now thick with something cloying, like grease stains on a mirror. Bringing up a telepathic thumb, Charles tried to wipe it off, to make it easier to see.

Erik hissed, bringing up a lethargic hand to rub at his temple.

“Ow. Don’t.”

“Sorry.” Charles emptied the papers from English and Physics onto Erik’s neat desk, putting them in just as neat as stack, before he turned the chair back around.

Erik shook his head. “No. It’s because it's physical pressure. In my head. Not jumbled. Thoughts.” Erik said, breathing heavily through his mouth, sniveling with every other breath.

Feeling his face soften, Charles scooted the chair closer, putting a hand on Erik’s neck. It was blazingly warm, but if it was due to all the blankets or the chill in the perceptually cold apartment, Charles didn’t know. But Erik’s eyes flickered open for a short while, before they fell closed again.

“Won’t be much fun today,” Erik mumbled into his palm, his breath humid and hot with sleep.

“Go back to sleep,” Charles said, smiling softly. “I’ll go when you’re out.”

Frowning, Erik peered up at him through narrowed eyes. But when Charles gave him a gentle shove, he did listen and turned over without much grace at all.

Charles lazily swiveled around in Erik’s chair, listening to the snapping of the pipes and Erik’s slowing breathing, as he watched the four, dark purple walls. Most people, including Charles himself, weren’t shy with showing their personality in their room. Back in Westchester, Charles had framed photos of Einstein and Hedy Lamarr on his nightstand, Star Wars and Harry Potter posters on his wall, books strewn on every available surface, as well as in the sagging bookcase. Nowadays, the behemoth was stuffed full with non-fiction on genetics, Jane Austen and some modern American classics and his two cross-country running trophies – both third place, but still something he was immensely proud of.

Erik room, on the other hand, was much more understated, as much of a private space as it was. Some of it was probably due to Erik’s inherent tidiness, which bordered on obsessive at times, but there were traces of the passionate person lived in here if you only knew where to look.

For example, the books – all the satires, non-fiction and social commentary Erik spent about all his money on – stood proudly on the eye-level shelf for people of Erik’s height, but on the other hand there were no posters on the walls, apart from a world map over the narrow bed. Where Charles’ laptop was open and on twenty-four seven, sixteen tabs open in Chrome, Erik’s was neatly closed and shut off on his tidy desk. A PCB lay to the left together with some tools, which were lined up neatly. 

To be honest, the only thing that was blatantly personal in such an impersonal room was the photo on the wooden chair beside the bed.

Scooting closer, Charles picked it up again, smiling. It was from last year, when he, Erik and Raven had gone to the midnight premiere of the _Battle of the Five Armies_. They had queued for four hours in ten degree wind, and by the end of it, they were desperately trying to keep their moods up.

Naturally, Raven had picked up her phone and started taking increasingly stupid photos.

In this one, one of the last before they could slip into the foyer, all three of them had tried to fit in the frame. Raven stood a few feet in front of them, only the right side of her face visible. And, what probably was purely by accident, all the focus was completely on Charles. In the picture, he was looking off to the right, mouth open as if he was in the middle of a word. It wasn’t all that flattering, he looked kind of daft, but when he saw his own eyes Charles finally understood why Erik had chosen to have such a train wreck printed at all.

Charles was looking at Erik with eyes so fond and adoring, it was visible even through the phone’s blurry lens. Erik wasn’t looking into the camera at all, his face caught right in a shout and chin tilted upwards in the way that shaped him into something intimidating as he gestured wildly. But it was all softened by the way they were sharing Charles’ muffler and Erik’s mouth was tilted into a smile.

On the bed, Erik let out a heavy sigh before he flung one of the blankets off his upper body.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice thick, before he rubbed a hand over his forehead. “You’re moving something. Stop it.”

“Just the photo,” Charles said, carefully putting the frame back on the chair.

Erik lay completely still, but Charles could feel his tired mind whirring. There was a moment of silence, Erik’s struggled breaths oddly loud in the little room. Charles watched him, waited.

“That was supposed to be a date, you know,” Erik then said, staring into the wall.

“Was it?”

“Yeah. But you brought Raven along.”

“Because that’s what we’d always done,” Charles reminded him. “With all Harry Potter movies, Lord of the Rings –”

“I know that  _now_ ,” Erik huffed, the blankets moving with his torso. ”But I was really bummed out, then.”

“Well, you got to share my muffler for three hours,” Charles said, scooting closer until his knees touched the edge of the bed. “You truly are a furnace, you know, so it was really nice.”

At that, Erik turned his head. “It was,” he said, serious.

The cold had softened his hard features even more, and Charles was overcome – like he often was these days – with an urge to just  _touch_  Erik. It struck him at all the oddest moments: while they were in the cafeteria to have lunch, in class, when they were on the subway despite already being pressed up against each other with the commuters. But it wasn’t unwelcome, and more often than not, Charles actually acted on it, if only to feel that still slightly surprised burst of light reflecting off of the surface of Erik’s mind.

So he did what he felt like doing, and trailed the tips of his fingers down Erik’s temple, stroking a bit into his hair. As Erik’s eyes fell closed, Charles repeated the motion, slow and steady.

“If you keep that up, I’m going to fall asleep,” Erik mumbled after a moment.

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing,” Charles said, not stopping.

Erik didn’t say anything after that, but his eyes fell down, staring at the floor rather than at Charles face as he had been. His mouth was once again a thin line, and just when Charles was about to ask what it was, he realized it himself.

“I’ll stay if you want to.”

Erik looked up at him again, a quick thing, before he shuffled closer to the wall, leaving a good portion of the narrow bed bare. Charles, taking the hint, smiled and peeled off his coat and shoes before she slipped down beside Erik’s warm body. It was a relief from the cold apartment, and he stretched his arms over his head to find a comfortable position. Erik had shifted onto his back as well, looking up into the ceiling and the corner where the paint had started to crack.

Turning his head on the pillow, Erik took a deep breath. “You might get sick, you know,” he then said, but there wasn’t much protest behind the words at all.

“It’ll be worth it,” Charles replied confidently, and pulled Erik close to his chest.

Inside the wall, the pipes started to snap again, and within minutes, they were both asleep.


	6. Reading Speed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place a year before [Rockefeller!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5346131/chapters/12344756)

“So, what do you think; should we go for one of the standards this year?”

“Don’t be boring, Charles. Besides, I think between the three of us, we have been to almost every Chinese restaurant within walking distance.”

“How about Thai?”

“Could work.”

“We had that last year, though.”

“Shall we go totally wild and go with French?”

“No, thank you. French food is nothing but cream and butter and then even more cream,” Raven said, biting into her candy with a crunching sound. “And it’s always under-salted, so it tastes of nothing and makes you feel greasy. So that’s out.”

“How about this Indian place then?”  Charles said, flinging yet another takeout menu at his sister. “There you have spice to carry you to spicy heaven.”

Erik tipped his chair onto its two hind legs as Raven picked up the menu, skimming it. Outside it was sleeting, closer to frozen rain than snow, but indoors the apartment was uncommonly warm. They were sitting in Erik’s kitchen, and had been for going on three hours now. , with take out menus were strewn all over the kitchen table. Some of the brave ones had even made it to the floor, despite the bowl of candy that Charles had placed on top of all them in hope to keep them in place.

“Well, it seems good enough, and I’d go for it.  _But_ ,” Raven said, one eyebrow crooked with skepticism. “Your delicate little stomach can’t take it. Don’t you remember last time?”

Charles’ smile faded and he shook his head, shaking out the images. “Don’t remind me,” he said, shuddering, before he swallowed, his pale throat bobbing.

“Aren’t you up for another internal deep cleanse?” Erik said, squeezing Charles’ warm, surprisingly solid shoulder to regain his balance. For a moment there, he’d almost toppled over.

Immediately, Charles slapped his hand away. “Absolutely not!”

“Oh, but you got to admit it was funny,” Erik told him, unable to wipe the grin of his face, placing his hand on the backrest of Charles’ chair instead. Even through the thick, knitted threads of his cardigan, Charles’ back was warm against the back of Erik’s fingers.

“It was not,” Charles exclaimed, face turning redder by the minute, “I was stuck in there for two hours! Two bloody hours of hell, Erik!”

Recalling the incident more clearly, Erik couldn’t help it but start laughing.

It had been almost exactly a year ago, on the same night that they were currently planning for. Because when school was out for winter break, but before Christmas and before or after Hanukkah, the three of them – and sometimes the rest of the people in the MPE – chose one night to order take-out from a to them completely new and unknown place. After walking to pick the food up, they would trudge back home for drinks, games and other shenanigans.

It was a really fun thing to do with all your friends, despite the fact that it all had started as a reason for Charles and Raven to avoid the dreaded Christmas banquet their mother always held on the same day as the Holy Night of Take Out took place.

Erik had been on since they were twelve, and most of the nights had gone by without too much trouble. But two years ago, Charles had – against his better judgment – let Erik and Raven talk him into ordering from an Indian place. And although the food was one of their better choices over the years – Erik still remembered a simply horrific Mediterranean place that must have been a red flag for the Health Inspection – Charles’ Tikka Masala had in hindsight probably contained some sort of stomach bug. Because barely half and hour after finishing, he’d excused himself halfway into their game of dreidel, only to stay gone for a good two and a half hours.

“I didn’t even get any candy,” Charles told him. “You’d eaten all of it when I got back.”

“That was a good thing – it would’ve gone straight through!” Erik reminded him, still laughing. He bit his lip to stop it, but Charles’ put out look was just too much, and it set him off again.

“You are so mean,” Charles said, but a smile was tugging at the corner of his lip.

Raven slapped her hands onto the tabletop, making the menus lift from the surface. “Okay, stop it you two – we need to figure this out! I’m starting to get hungry, and I can’t survive on candies alone” she said, pointedly popping another candy from the bowl into her mouth.

Straightening his cardigan, Charles sent Erik a quick look, before he obediently picked up a menu that had fallen onto the floor.

“Okay, so what about this then?”

Raven leaned in over the table, peeking over the edge. “What is it?”

Charles opened the leaflet – a blue and white thing that actually looked quite promising – and skimmed through it with an abnormal speed, blue eyes entering the information into his extraordinary brain. Watching Charles’ read had always been one of Erik’s favorite activities when he lost focus in class, if only because Charles couldn’t directly see the looks Erik was giving him.

But there was something objectively fascinating about it as well. On some speed-reading test they’d done in school forever ago, Erik had landed on three-hundred words per minute, which was quite average. Charles hadn’t wanted to tell him his score at first, but then it had been revealed that he read about six hundred, plus remembered  _everything_  he’d ever landed his eyes on.

Eidetic memory, it was apparently called, and something all telepaths had in common, making it so that they never forgot a thing.

Sometimes, when Erik felt particularly down thinking about how his life would be after he told Charles how he felt (and Charles would do that thing where he told Erik politely no thank you and they would inevitably start to slip away from each other, even though Charles would promise him that everything would stay the same and nothing would change) the only thing saving him from drowning himself in the sink, was that at least, Charles would never forget Erik, even if he wanted to.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough for those dark moments.

“Greek,” Charles answered, turning the menu over. “Seems good enough to me, and I’ve never heard of it.”

“Where is it then?” Raven asked through her chewing.

Floating his phone out of his pocket, Erik quickly entered the address. “Three point six miles from here, give or take.”

Raven threw her hands out, looking expectantly at Charles. “That’s doable! What do you say?”

Charles didn’t say anything. Instead, he was looking at Erik face. Or maybe it was the phone that was still hanging in the air, Erik didn’t know. But tugging of Charles’ mouth got stronger, and before long, it bloomed into a smile.

“Yes, it’s good.”

 


	7. Mornings, part I

It had been twelve hours since Charles last talked to Erik.

For as long as they’d been friends, they’d never texted or called each other an awful lot. Some of it was probably due to growing up in an age before cell phones, but even when they’d both gotten one, they hadn’t taken it up with each other with as much zeal as most of their classmates. It could go up to a day to get an answer on a text, especially when it came to Erik, but even knowing this was perfectly normal, there was still something chafing inside of Charles’ chest when he woke up the morning after.

He knew it was stupid to be this obsessed, especially considering that they hadn’t been all over each other before, plus that Erik had sent a quick  _good night_ yesterday when he got home. And for all Charles was a bit slow, and oblivious – it had taken him a right out “Erik likes you Charles, and I mean _like-like_ ” from Raven to realize how things were – he knew when he was close to losing it.

So, when he found himself checking his phone for the third time in as many minutes, he decided that a distraction was in order. 

Tugging a sweater over his t-shirt to keep the worst of the mansion's inescapable chill out, Charles trudged downstairs into the living room. Ever since Brian died, the maids had done most of the decorating around the mansion. It happened quietly overnight, and no matter how early Charles woke up on the sixth – or sometimes seventh – all of the tinsel, angels and fairy lights were already making the shadows in the nooks and crannies glitter in hues of gold, red and green.

But, for some reason Charles couldn’t figure out, they always left the stockings on the floor and the tree bare. The maids were one of the few things that hadn’t been upended when his father died and Kurt moved in, and if Charles would ever feel thankful against his mother, that would be a thing he’d mention. They were still the same three women that had always been there and they always smiled at him and Raven when they saw them, crinkles in the corners of their eyes.

Charles wouldn’t put it past them to leave those two essentials for him and Raven, if only in an attempt to keep the Christmas spirit up in an emotionally dead and close to loveless household.

It was fairly early in the morning, and the edges of the big windows in the living room were still rimmed with a light dusting of frost. A coil of fairy lights shone dimly on the mantel piece, but that was also all on it.  Sighing, Charles sank onto his knees by the open cardboard box the maids had left beside the empty fireplace and pulled out the stockings, one by one.

It was quick work – just untangling the loops and then thread them onto the hooks on the mantel – but it still felt if something was missing as he looked up at his work. They hanged there in a neat row – his blue and silver one, Raven’s red and gold and mother’s green – looking pretty, being useless. Charles feet were cold on the old hardwood floor as he got up from his knees.

Taking the now empty cardboard box with him to place by the door to the attic, he started up the stairs.

He was halfway up, when the phone in his back pocket started to vibrate. Quickly setting the box down, he answered, not even checking the caller.

“Good morning,” Erik said from the other end of the line.

“Good morning,” Charles answered, sitting down in the banister with a dull thump. “How – how are you?”

His hands felt a little unsteady, so he clamped his hand a little harder around his phone. Yesterday, they’d parted by the skate rink with a quick kiss and nothing more, but Charles had been so elated and happy he’d had a hard time sleeping. Hearing Erik’s voice awoke those feelings once again, just as he’d started to get anxious for no reason other than his galloping imagination.

“A bit bruised, but good. Just came back from a run.”

“Did it go well?”

“Nearly slipped and fell on the bridge, but saved my poor ass from it though,” Erik said, teasing note in his voice and how could he be so unflappable? Was it because they were on the phone?

“I’m sorry,” Charles told him, but he couldn’t stop the little nervous laugh from escaping.

Erik snorted. “I’m sure you are.”

“Really am!”

“Yeah right,” Erik said, and there was a rustle of clothes, a springing sound followed by a thump.  “What are you up to?”

Leaning his head against the rail, Charles shrugged. “Nothing much. Just put up the stockings.”

“I thought your maids did that.”

“They do. Mostly. Tree and stockings, that’s all on Raven and me. We usually make a day of it.”

“A whole day?” Erik said him, laughter still laced in his voice. ”Sometimes, I’m glad I’m Jewish.”

“It is nice, though,” Charles told him honestly, thinking back on all the years when he and Raven put on Brian’s old jazz vinyl on the record player, and all but barricaded themselves in the living room to revive the Christmas spirit the best they could. He looked down at the empty box by his knee, swallowing.

In an attempt to distract himself, he then asked. “When is Hanukkah this year, by the way?

“Wait a minute,” Erik said, before Charles heard him shuffle to the door. “Mom, when is Hanukkah?”

Distantly, Charles heard Edie’s reply, sounding as if it came through a thick fabric. “Starts the 16th, dear. And go get ready, we’re leaving in five.”

There was more clatter, the sound of a subdued curse and then Erik was in his ear again. “16th to 24th.”

“Would you – would you like to go out skating again, before that, sometime?”

There was moment of silence, so Charles immediately continued, “We don’t have to though – we could just go out somewhere. Look at the lights maybe, it’s quite nice too, if like that, you haven’t said anything about it but I haven’t either I think, so it could be something we could do, or nothing at all really, but –”

“Charles.”

“What?”

“You’re babbling.”

“Oh.” Charles said, looking down at his feet, the thin cotton socks he had on.

“It’s fine,” Erik laughed, “I don’t think my tailbone can take such a beating again so soon, but looking at lights sounds - sounds nice, so.”

Charles felt a smile creep onto his face, blooming slowly. “All right.”

“All right. Well, I got to go – help mom grocery shopping.”

“Okay. Love you.”

Charles didn’t realize what he’d said before the words had already tumbled out, passed the point of salvation. At first, he was simply in shock, and after that it was just a long, agonizing second of wishing desperately for death.

Then, after a moment, Erik, with a voice so warmly amused it could melt through anything, said, “Love you too.”


	8. Mornings, part II

He had just gotten off the phone with Erik when a floorboard creaked behind him.

“What are you doing?”

Snapping around, Charles spotted Raven, red hair a mess from being rubbed against her pillow all night. She was wearing her bunny slippers and a too big, Hugh Hefner inspired robe with a silk collar that she refused to throw away, no matter how mother scoffed at the ugly, threadbare thing.

“Just talking on the phone,” he said, unable to keep the smile out of his voice. Raven tilted her head before she padded closer, her footfalls soft and muffled against the carpet.

“With Erik?” she asked, grinning.

“Yes.”

“How did it go?”

Leaning his elbows on his knees, Charles just smiled down at his phone, shrugging. The screen had gone black with disuse, but those three words from Erik, spoken so softly, had lit up something in his stomach. Like a fireplace in a cold cabin, it shone out its light into every crevice of his body as a low, thrumming glow, growing and shrinking in time with his heart.

Raven’s mouth fell open. “Charles Francis Xavier, did you finally ask him out? After two years of pining? Is this real or is it just a –”

Quickly, before she started to belt out the song for real, Charles put a hand over her mouth. “Not as much asked him out as told him, but yes. We’re together now, I think.”

Raven’s eyebrow lifted and crooked in a very impressive way. From behind his hand, she said, voice muffled, “You  _think_?”

“Well,” Charles told her, grinning. “We –”

“Hold it right there. I want you to tell me  _everything_. In order. I have tracked this unholy mess for three years without any gratification,” she said, swatting his hand away from her face, “so you owe me everything.”

“Fine. But let’s decorate the tree in the meantime? I just put up the stockings already, so -- ” Charles said, gesturing towards the box beside him, filled with tinsel and baubles and fairy lights.

Raven clapped her hands. “I do not care when or how, only  _if_  you tell me.”

They went down the stairs again, Raven’s robe fluttering like wings behind her as she skipped through the foyer. It was still chilly, but as they pulled out the vinyl’s and started a fire in the fireplace, it started to warm up. The frost on the windows began to melt away, revealing the snow-covered grounds outside in all their white, sparkling glory.

“So, he still hadn’t gotten the memo that it was a date?” Raven asked as she pulled out a string of tinsel from one of the boxes under the window. It was fluffy, thick and almost white, and Charles took it and carefully started to wind it around the tree. To reach the top, he had to lean in over the tree and the scent of resin and needles made his nose tingle with its sharpness.

“No, but I didn’t realize it until I’d kissed him. So it was probably a good thing.”

Raven sent him a beaming smile over her shoulder as she started to untangle of the loops to the baubles. “So, what happened then?”

Charles tucked the end of the tinsel around a low hanging branch. “We skated some more, and I didn’t let him fall. Then we had hot cocoa.”

“And that’s it?”

Charles shrugged, coming around from behind the tree. “I kissed him again, though. When we said goodbye.”

“So no spending three hours on the phone once you’d gotten home?” Raven said, turning to sit on her butt instead of knees, leaning against the box.

“He called me now,” Charles said, bemused.

Raven just shook her head. “Emotional constipation, thy name is Lehnsherr,” she said under her breath, holding out a couple of baubles for Charles’ to hang in the tree.

He took them, let them dangle of his fingertips as he said, oddly proud, “He said ‘love you’ now, though.”

Her mouth a perfect ‘o’ of shock, Raven stared at him with her yellow eyes. “Really? What? When?”

“When he called me just now.”

At that, Raven just shook her head. "I can't believe it. Really?"

“Yes.” Charles put the baubles up near the top, two twigs in-between each of them. Raven closed her mouth.

“You sure you heard right?”

“Yes!”

“He didn’t hit his head yesterday?”

“No,” Charles said, sending her an exasperated look as he sat down on the floor too. “ _You_  told  _me_  he liked me, and it was true.”

So very true it made Charles all warm inside, thinking about that slow zipper smile Erik sent his way when they parted yesterday.He’d seen it before, when Erik was particularly pleased, but then and there it hadn’t been meant for anyone but Charles – such a slow private thing, Charles felt light and filled all the same time.

“I know! But that doesn’t mean he won’t have trouble  _expressing_ those feelings, Charles. Because we both know that it’s a bit of a challenge for him,” she said, the seriousness of her voice only broken by one of those crooked eyebrows.

Charles just gave her a  _look_. “I think we’ll manage. It’s not like we’re new to each other.”

“If you say so,” she said, leaning in to throw an arm around Charles’ shoulder. “I’m so happy for you – both of you. Promise.”

“Thanks,” Charles said, leaning into her as he looked into the licking flames in the fireplace. Raven placed her chin on his shoulder, and he felt more than saw her eyes gleam in the corner of his eyes.

“But if he hurts you, I’ll break his nose.”

“Wasn’t doubting it.”

“Good.”

 


	9. Texting Disasters

Normally, Erik wasn't a bad cook.

He knew his way around the household. Apart from weekly trips to the grocery store – which were holy and not to be tampered with – he had done his own laundry since he was ten, and been around in the kitchen for as long as he could remember. In fact, one of his earliest memories was sitting in front of the oven and waiting for the challah to bake. Living alone with a single mother his whole life, societal assumptions regarding teenage boys and messiness didn’t exactly apply to him. There had never been any question about whether or not he was supposed to help out with all things domestic, never mind that he happened to be a son and instead of a daughter.

Until he got old enough to realize it was uncommon, Erik had honestly never thought twice about it. If it was because of his chosen isolation or because it was so intrinsic to who he was, Erik didn’t know. He’d actually been shocked when he found out that Charles didn’t even know how to cook pancakes without charring the poor things; destroying the pan and turning the kitchen into a smoke infused death-trap in the process.

In hindsight, the monthly functions, the maids and the mansion should probably have ticked him off. But, it was also a thing that was very much _Charles_. He had gotten better over the years, by teaching himself how to use the oven properly.

Thus, Erik had never for his life thought he’d witness the nightmare that was a kitchen fire in real life, much less be the cause of it.

Yet, here he was, frozen in shock and just staring at the foot-high  _flames_ in the cast iron pan.

He’d been off to the side, peeling the mountain of potatoes for the latkes – something he’d done for as long as he’d been allowed to use the peeler – while keeping an eye on the oil.

He’d also been texting with Charles.

Charles Francis Xavier, telepath with horrible sense of fashion, freckles and a red mouth, who Erik had kissed for the first time a week ago. Brilliant, kind Charles Xavier who was stuck at one of his mother’s horrible functions with all those cloyingly sweet women, the ice kings, the  _correct manners_ and the debutantes that, quote ‘ _looks at me like you do so I have to tell them sorry not sorry only gorgeous Jewish boys for me thanks_ ” unquote.  

So maybe, he’d been a little distracted for a moment.

But had been enough for the oil to see its chance – and take it.

Instinctively, his first reaction was to fling the thing out of the window. Without using his hands, he took a hold of the flaming pan, unlatched the hatch on the window with a twist of his wrist, and was just about to throw the damn thing out, when he realized that someone  _could_  get that flaming thing right in the head.  And while Erik didn’t care too much about it, they would not be able to afford the lawsuit, not even if he took double shifts at the cinema.

Cursing, he slammed the pan back on the stove, heart beating faster and faster in his chest. What was he supposed to do? If the fire spread anymore, it’d reach the hood. And then it’d reach the filter. Which would be a disaster. He needed to do something. When there’s a fire in the kitchen, with oil you –

Suffocate it.

He dropped the potato still clutched in his hand.  Face heating up, he started to fling out lids from the cabinets. They clattered onto the counter tops and kitchen tiles as Erik tore through another cabinet in a desperate search for tea towels. Behind him, the flames from the burning oil in the pan just raised higher and higher.

“Damn it, where are they? Come on!”

He found a few lids, but it only took a quick glance to see that they were all glass and all too small for the truly gigantic pan Edie only pulled out when Hanukkah came around. Feeling a rush of panic so dire it made his hands shake, Erik swore profusely and reached for one of the tea towels he’d found. With a quick movement, he tried covering the fire, but it only fluttered and made a flame lick closer to the wall.

Erik dropped everything, cold, helpless panic setting in for real. So he did the only thing he could.

“ _Mom_!”

Yelling at the top of his lungs, he rushed out in the hallway; making the rag rug slide on the floor before slamming his hand repeatedly against the bathroom door to get her attention.

“What is it?” Edie yelled back through the rush of the water, voice tinged with annoyance. “I’m in the shower, Erik!”

Swallowing, Erik threw a quick look back into the kitchen. The fire was getting bigger.

“It caught fire!” he shouted.

There was a silence.

Then, a clatter followed by a rustle, before the door was pulled open, revealing Edie. Her hair was wet and she had snatched a robe around her body, a trail of water behind her on the floor.

“Really?” she asked, incredulous.

“The oil,” Erik offered, heart still beating wildly, as he followed her out in the kitchen, where she gasped at the mess. “The lids are too small and I didn’t – ”

Edie stared at the flames for a short second before she turned around. With a quick motion she ripped the rag rug off of the floor and promptly threw it over the burning pan. In the process, she almost knocked over the tin of utensils, but Erik caught it before it could tumble to the floor and make an even bigger mess.

A few trails of smoke made it through the rug, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been without it.

Panting, Edie brushed a wet strand from her eyes. “Now, don’t touch that for a while, you hear?”

Erik didn’t say anything. He just scratched his neck when she turned towards him, hands on her hips and still dripping with water. At the back, there was also a cluster of suds, stark white against her dark hair.

“How did this happen?” she demanded, voice stern. “I told you to keep an eye on it.”

Erik wished desperately for the floor to swallow him, never mind he was almost a foot taller than her now. “I know. I did.”

“Did you now?” Edie said, pointing at the mess behind her. “I rather think you were occupied with something – or someone – else. Am I right about that?”

Erik swore, not for the first time, that she must be telepathic too. Or maybe that was just a universal mom power? He didn’t dare meet her eyes.

“Erik Magnus Lehnsherr, tell me, am I right about that?”

Years of experience made it clear that the only option to get out of it alive when she used that voice, was to tell the truth. That voice had made him piss himself in fear when he was younger, and the consequences for lying had always been very dire – overbearing Jewish mothers’ rages were simply not to be taken lightly.

Erik cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“You burned the oil because you were busy texting Charles?”

Erik’s head snapped up at that. “How did you –”

Her eyebrows were still knitted, but she closed the little space between them and patted him lightly with a still damp hand on the cheek. “You’ve pined over that boy for so long – of course I notice a change,  _schatz_.”

Yep, telepathy was definitely a Mom power.

“About that –” Erik started.

“No. You will not see him until after Hanukkah. It’s family time only. And go peel your potatoes,” Edie said, and with one last look of she headed back into the shower, door clicking shut behind her.

Erik looked at the rag rug still haphazardly thrown over the stove, the light trails of smoke from the heated fan. Sighing, he picked up his phone, snapped a photo and sent it to Charles with the caption:

_This is what happens when I text you._

He was already elbow-deep into the potatoes when the reply came.

_I make you lose control that bad? Damn, I’m good._


	10. Rasperry

As promised, Charles pulled them off the ice after the hour was up, instead steering them towards the ultimate cure for frozen extremities.

Still slightly unbalanced, in every sense of the word, Erik followed when Charles took his hand in his and guided him through the throngs of people and towards the hot cocoa stand parked to the side of the sparkling, glittering square. In front of the order window, there was a queue of a maybe five or six couples, all talking lowly to each other over the bustle from the street on the other side of the street.

The air was crystal-like with cold, clear and harsh. Erik’s knees had warmed up a bit after he’d – with Charles’ help –  finally gotten the hang of maneuvering the skates, but standing still, the chill crept upon him again.

Not that it could reach far. Not with the way Charles was plastered against his side, arm tightly wrapped around his waist and spreading both physical and toasty mental warmth into Erik’s body, inch by inch.

To have Charles beside him like this – Erik didn’t even dare close his eyes in the fear it would all turn to smoke. It felt so fragile, almost like a hallucination – something so hazy and unimaginable it couldn’t be true. Yet, the hand on his back was real. They were not just two childhood friends warming each other up in the unforgiving chill, but something more. Something more defined and inclusive that had been on Erik’s mind ever since he’d realized that they weren’t wholly innocent; the thoughts he harbored for Charles.

It had been the spring semester in freshman year when he’d first found himself thinking about how soft Charles’ mouth really looked. It had just been a simple observation, until he’d realized that he’d discovered it in the first place because he wanted, desperately, to find out if it was as soft as it looked and how it would feel to kiss him.

Erik had been so shocked by himself he’d had to leave the classroom.

From there on, there had been no return. Every littlest thing about Charles was now a startling new discovery that added to his whole, building him up from scratch in Erik’s mind not as best friend Charles but as the bi-curious interest, the devastating gay-panic crush, the  _boyfriend_  Charles. Everything that had always been there, but suddenly seen in an entirely new light.

Like the fact of how utterly stunningly pretty, kind and marvelous he was.

Seeming to catch the last of his thought, Charles looked up at him. “Are you cold?” he asked, the tip of his nose red with the chill. He rubbed his hand against Erik’s side.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Erik answered.

“Most of them have already decided what to get,” Charles told him, making a sweeping gesture at the dwindling queue with his hand. “So it won’t take too long.”

“All right,” Erik said, daring to reach out and tuck a curl of Charles’ floppy hair behind his ear.

He’d planned on pulling his hand back then, but the feel of the warm but chilled smooth skin under his fingertips made him linger, the touch holding him there as if magnetic. Keeping his fingers on the edge of his jaw, Erik watched as Charles’ pupils widened, making it so that they swallowed all of the electric blue around it, his breath hitching.

“Hello there, how can I help you?”

They fell away from each other as the girl in the stand called out for them. She was smiling brightly, bundled up in layers upon layers against the cold and with a Santa hat askew on her wild afro curls.

Clearing his throat, Charles tore his eyes from Erik with visible difficulty and walked up to the stand, raking his eyes over the menu. He bit his lip, white teeth even whiter against the redness and Erik wasn’t sure how he kept himself from leaning down to steal yet another kiss from him, knowing how soft yet demanding they were.

He also thought he saw the cocoa girl roll her eyes in his peripheral, but he wasn’t sure.

“I’ll have the raspberry syrup one, please,” Charles said, smiling his public smile before he turned to Erik, dimming it into the gentler, more secret variety once again. “You can have whatever you like.”

Not taking his eyes of Charles, Erik said “Just a standard one. No cream.”

They took their styrofoam cups and Charles paid for their drinks – the girl totally did wink at Erik as she handed him them – before they made their way over to one of the many benches scattered around the edges of the square. Above, the fairy lights flickered in blue and white, reflecting in Charles’ eyes as he curled his hands around the mug and took a sip, his feet shuffling a bit in the thin layer of frost covering the ground.

Mimicking his motion, Erik downed a swig, thankful for the distraction the slightly too hot liquid stood for.

He was about to break the silence, when Charles scooted closer, pressing his entire side against Erik’s – from calf to shoulder, letting the warmth pass between them. Erik kept his hand curled around his mug, suddenly feeling hesitant and all too unsure of what he was supposed to do. Swirling the hot cocoa in his mug, he didn’t register when Charles pulled off his mitten, so he startled when a bare, still warm hand landed on his nape, curling gently above the skin where his scarf had slid down.

“Are you sure you aren't cold?”

Charles voice was so soft, the sound nearly disappeared in the bustle around them.

He looked up from his cup, catching Charles smile. “No. Not really,” he said.

He was warm, just not in the physical sense. Trying but failing to find the words, he awkwardly sent the sensation, that toasty warmth that filled up his stomach and made him feel so light he swore he was all but flying, towards Charles with a gentle nudge.

Charles’ serious expression dissolved at that, and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Erik’s with a sigh.

“Glad we’re finally on the same page,” he said, huffing out a little laugh that made the hesitation leak out of Erik in an instant.

So he tilted his head slightly, inviting, and Charles immediately caught on and pushed forward, kissing him again. It was just as soft as before, but slower and thorough in a way Erik never did things.

And when he went home to the apartment through the cold, glittering streets, a taste of raspberry cocoa still lingered on his tongue.

 


	11. The Youth MPE

The last meeting of the year was always reserved for the annual Gift Exchange.

Sitting around the big round table in the library, now decorated with baubles and reindeer and cut-out snowflakes taped to the windows, they were just wrapping up the meeting; Armando jotting down the plans for next year in his notebook. Darkness was rapidly approaching outside , and they’d put out the fluorescent lights in favor of lighting the candles that Jean had brought from home.

Emma closed her agenda with a click and looked out over them.

“Since we don’t have any freshmen here, you all know how it goes.”

Scooting her chair back – the only one with wheels – she pulled out a bag from under the table. It was a generic paper bag and just as every year, it was filled to the brim with packets. The Gift Exchange at the end of each term had been a tradition as long as the MPE had existed at the school, and even if Emma in her position as chairman hadn’t been one for a traditional approach – she’d been less for integration and more keen on creating a solely mutant community in the school – it was a tradition that she’d kept, small as it was.

“So,” she said, holding up a small box, impeccably wrapped in blue paper with silver menorahs on it. “First one is for Kitty. Catch.”

Tossing the little present towards the other end of the table, Emma didn’t even look as Kitty caught it soaring with one hand, a small smile on her lips.

“Cassidy.”

A bigger, obviously heavy package in bright green and red slid over the table, right into Sean’s lap. Immediately, he picked it up and shook it, looking pleased when whatever that was inside didn’t make a sound.

As the presents continued to be distributed around the table, Charles cast Erik a glance. In the warm, shy glow of the candles, the enhanced shadows brought out the sharpness of his face, making the contrast with his soft mouth that much clearer and obvious in a way that Charles hadn’t truly appreciated before. Or, well, he had always thought Erik to be extraordinarily handsome – which should have made him realize his attraction a lot earlier – but now, it wasn’t only in a purely aesthetic sense, but rather a infatuated one that was foolish to deny as it made his skin heat with pride whenever he looked over and realized that all of that was  _his._

Instead of reaching out to drag his knuckles along Erik’s jaw, Charles made himself ready to reach out and drag his foot along Erik’s shin, when Emma pointedly cleared her throat.

“I know it’s  _really_  hard to look at anything other than Lehnsherr’s face, but I need your attention this way, Xavier,” she said, voice so exasperated and sardonic it pulled more than few giggles from around the table.  

Face blazing, Charles had barely time to turn his head before a package almost hit him in the head. He flailed slightly as he caught the light rectangular package, wrapped neatly with snowflake paper and a white ribbon. When he held it up to shake it by his ear, it made a rustling sound.

Emma clapped her hands once. “All set. Let’s open some presents.”

At that cue, they all started to pluck at the tape and tear into the colorful papers with various levels of care. In just a moment, the library was transformed into a clattering, bustling whirlwind of color and sound, surprised exclaims – Kitty revealing two hair clips in the form of Star of David – mixed with more questioning statements – like when Sean pulled a slanket out of his shoebox and proclaimed that the sleeves were on the wrong side, wasn’t it supposed to be a badass cape?

Charles hanged back a bit with his gift – a bag of homemade apple and honey tea – to glance over to catalog Erik’s reaction when he unwrapped the iconic red and yellow muffler with a Gryffindor-emblem at the end.

When Charles had found out he’d actually been lucky – if you could call any intervention by Emma _luck_ – enough to gift something to Erik, he hadn’t wanted to be all that obvious at first. He’d thought about something more subdued, like that newly published book discussing the integrated school system, as it was no secret how Erik loved his social commentary literature. But then he’d laid eyes on the mufflers that were on sale, and it had all simply been to perfect not to act upon.

 “I think,” Erik said, grinning like a maniac as he proudly winded the garment around his neck, “that I know exactly who gave me this.”

He leaned back in his seat, and winked at Charles with one eye, impossibly impish.

At the head of the table, Emma sent him a glare so icy it would’ve made hell freeze over. “At least pretend you don’t, Lehnsherr.”

Erik stayed unruffled. “Sorry, Frost.”

“Sure you are,” Emma shot back at him with a saccharine smile as she bunched up the bag with jerky movements. When Erik just shook his head in reply, she threw him another glare before she turned to Sean. “So, who is your gifter, Cassidy?”

What followed was an elaborate guessing game involving inputs from everyone. Charles protectively cradled his bag of tea from Sean’s wildly gesturing hands while he waited for his turn. Staring at Erik’s open and grinning face, he decided to act upon his earlier urge and carefully toed of one of his shoes under the table, with the intention to start dragging it up along Erik’s shin, reclaiming his attention from the bustle around them.

On the other end of the table, Armando turned over his pair of white, incredibly fluffy earmuffs.

“Whoever gave me these gets a kiss,” he announced, delighted, and snapped them on.

Charles felt a ripple of  _embarrassment hope incredulity_  from somewhere in the room, but he didn’t look there, too focused on Erik and on damning his short legs for making this all the much harder than it had to be.

Just before Charles’ toe made contact, Emma decided once again to break his moment.

“Charles, who’s your gifter?” she asked, leaning her chin on her knuckles.

Looking out over the other ten members, Charles gave it a real consideration. Erik was out of the question, as he definitely would’ve made something with his powers; something for Charles to wear. He still had a watch bracelet Erik had made him two years ago, that he’d taken up to wearing daily now that they were actually dating.

As for the others, Emma, Angel, Betsy and Kitty were all out too. Emma was too set on ' _re-touching his old fart image_ ' to get him anything that would reinforce it. Angel and Betty would both have gotten him something racy, and Kitty would have been more pragmatic. Alex, on the other hand, would have gone for something sharp and/or slightly dangerous and Sean would’ve gifted something edible.

That left Hank, Darwin and Jean. Thoughtfully, Charles looked over at them. Hank knew Charles better than to go for tea, while Armando would’ve tried to make a joke out of it. Which left –

“Jean?” he said, smiling at the redhead at his right.

She sent back a small smile, revealing nothing, her mind blank and shielded.

Emma nodded. “Fair enough. What about you, Lehnsherr?”

“It’s Charles, because he’s the only one who’d get the house right,” Erik said without losing a beat, and there were giggles all around the table. Emma just sighed, but Charles thought he caught the flicker of a smile before she ducked her head again.

“Time for reveals,” she said, opening her binder again. “So, we’re taking this from the beginning. I got the combat gloves for Betsy.”

“I had Angel, so she got the brass knuckles,” Betsy peeked up, bumping Angel’s shoulder with a sly grin.

Angel grinned back. “Thanks! I got the Alex the earphones.”

“I had…” Alex paused for a moment, almost looking embarrassed before he said, ”Armando.”

The table broke out in giggles again. “At least it wasn’t Frost!” Armando exclaimed, smile wide as he patted Alex on the back. “I love them, man. And yeah, I got the pens for Hank.”

“I got the slanket for Sean,” Hank said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You put your hands in it, and – and drape it over you,” he explained, making some vague motion with his hands.

“Thanks man, it’s super comfy,” Sean said, but draped the slanket over his back rather than front. “I got the beanie for Jean!”

“Thank you. I got the tea for Charles.”

Charles smiled at her, “Thank you, dear, it smells really lovely,” he said, sending along a tick of genuine gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” she said, resettling her new, blue knitted cap on her head so that it covered her ears.

Charles nodded at her, before he shrugged. “You already know, but yes, I did get the muffler for Erik.”

“Called it!” Sean held up one finger, which set off the table laughing again.

“You two are so geeky, it’s almost not even cute,” Angel warned, to which Charles resisted the sudden and very childish urge to stick out his tongue at her and her cheeky grin.

“I made the hairpins for Kitty,” Erik said, looking over at Kitty, who was turning the small silver things over in her hands.  “It’s to keep that hair out of your face when you’re kicking ass at Krav Maga.”

The corner of Kitty’s mouth tilted upwards and she tucked one of the pins into her hair, effectively holding her fringe in place. “Thanks. I will. I got the ear rings for Emma, of course.”

Emma had already changed her pearls out for the simple silver rings, but that was also all appreciation she showed outwards. Giving the table an once-over, she closed the agenda, flattening a stray hair down against her head.

“All right. Hope you’re all satisfied, because that’s a wrap. Meeting and year concluded,” she said, scooting out from her chair before she stalked out of the library without looking back.

The others filed out after her, chatting idly. Charles lingered a bit as Erik packed up his stuff – putting all of his notebooks and pens into the right pockets before he stood up, muffler still winded around his neck. It clashed horribly with his maroon shirt, but since it was Erik, it obviously didn’t bother him at all. Grabbing one of the loose ends, Charles pulled him in, wanting him close after such a long hour without touch. Immediately, Erik’s hand landed on the small of his back, in such an organic way was it was all but breathtaking.

“So, do you like it?” Charles grinned, bringing up his other hand to grip the other end as well.

Not bothered by his now limited movement, Erik just tightened his grip on Charles’ hip. “You know I do,” he grinned.

“Good then,” Charles said, and finally pulled him down for a kiss.


	12. Vacuum

Every year, Sharon and Kurt went on weekend trips to Aspen.

Mostly, they happened sporadically during the winter time, their money securing cabins even in the high season. Some years, they went regularly every weekend until spring, while other years it was just a single trip all winter. Ironically, those single trips years were also the bad years, as mother always came home more hollow-eyed and more visibly cracking than from all the other’s combined.

Charles deliberately didn’t think about what happened on the bad trips. He had gone with them, one of the first times, and it still made his stomach twist with unease. Because it was one thing to see your own mother devastatingly drunk in the safety of her own home – a whole another out in the open, while her new husband did nothing to stop the forthcoming disaster, letting her humiliate herself all she pleased.

However, even if he’d thought it make a difference, Charles wouldn’t have put a stop for them. He’d never prided himself in being a good or altruistic individual, and hadn’t it been for those trips, the mansion would never be free of Kurt’s and Sharon’s stifling presences for more than a day – never leave a weekend of freedom in the darkest time of the year.

Never leave a weekend when Charles could be selfish and bring Erik back to his. 

This year, they had skipped off right after New Year’s, leaving nothing but a pre-written note in their absence. The maids were on leave, and Raven had taken this as her cue to go spend the night at Angel’s and the other girls’, freedom taking the better of her. Charles had caught a wave of emotion not too foreign from her, but didn’t comment as she’d dashed out the door only a few hours after mother, overnight bag slung over her shoulder and telling him to have fun and not mope.

After her swift departure, Charles was thus left with a mansion so empty, his own breaths echoed eerily off the walls. Despite having lived there his whole life, Charles had never grown comfortable with the sheer hugeness of what he was to call his home. While Brian was still alive, the building had managed to hold onto a certain homey, welcoming atmosphere, but it had died together him, no matter how Charles had tried to cling to it over the years.

Standing alone in the foyer, now bare and devoid of all Christmas ornaments, he called Erik.

An hour later, Erik showed up on his door step, tips of his hair curling with perspiration under his knitted cap, panting slightly as he said that they  _had_  to go out and take advantage of all this  _uninterrupted_  snow, because not doing so was a wasted opportunity.

Charles, who’d rather stay indoors and cuddle by the fireplace, had not found a good enough argument to disagree when Erik was smiling at him with all of his impressive teeth.

And so they were now knee-deep into the backyard of the mansion, working away on the different body parts of a snow man.

Brushing some irregularities from the surface, Charles rose from his snowy knees, studying the ball he’d worked on for the past ten minutes. It was a good enough head, he thought, picking it up and bringing it over to where Erik was busy packing snow in-between the layers of the probably six feet tall sculpture.

Charles sighed.

“Why is it so tall?” he grumbled, when he realized that there was no way  he’d be able to reach up.

Smoothing away one last seam, Erik took the last ball from Charles’ hands, placing it on top – just out of Charles’ reach. “Why not? Taller is better, everyone knows that,” Erik told him as he started to secure the snowman’s head to its body with patches of snow.

“Why though?”

He got a raised eyebrow in return. “Things are always within easy reach?”

“You give yourself concussions on door frames,” Charles countered, but straightened out of his slouch.

“I never have to look up at anyone.”

To further his argument, he pointedly looked down at Charles, grinning. In retort, Charles put his hands on Erik’s chest and gave him a gentle shove; making Erik sway a bit on his feet. “You topple over,  _Magneto_.”

That earned him a flat look. “Skating is all about balance, you said so yourself.”

“Balance, which has to to with center of gravity, and so  _all_  to do with height,” 

Charles knew he'd won that round as he grinned up at Erik and his frowning face. Or so he thought so until the ground suddenly disappeared from under his feet, the world turning upside-down in a rush. Charles yelped, flailing helplessly before he realized that Erik had actually  _picked him up_  and thrown him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“ _No_! You cheat!”

“This happens when fun-sized people get cheeky,” Erik told him matter-of-factly and landed a couple of friendly pats on Charles’ ass. “Brought it upon yourself. Now, admit you were wrong.”

Charles felt his face going hot. He slammed his open hands against Erik’s back, thumping out a muffled rhythm. “Put me down, you –!”

“Not until you admit taller is better,” Erik laughed, and then started spinning around. The motion made the world go blurry, all white and gleaming in front of Charles’ eyes, which were pulsing with pressure and blood and barely contained laughter.

“Never!”

“Guess I’ll keep you like this then,” and Charles couldn’t believe it when Erik then nuzzled his face against hist butt like a contented cat.

Pressing out a wheezing laugh, he demanded, “Let me down, you beanpole, or my eyes will actually pop out!”

At that, Erik did loosen his grip to let him slide down to the ground again. But Charles, flushed and head still pulsing with blood, wasn’t letting it go that easily. So he locked his legs around Erik’s hips tightly. The surprise of the added weight made Erik nose-heavy, and after swaying for a second, they helplessly toppled forward into a snowdrift with a mutual 'oof'. The snow fluttered up around them, catching the still lingering sunlight before settling.

As air returned to his lungs, Charles grinned. “See? Tall people topple over.”

Erik reached up to push his beanie from where it had slid down his face. “Really now. And whose fault is that?”

“Yours,” Charles replied, grabbing a handful of snow and stuffing it Erik’s grinning face.

Sputtering, Erik wriggled out of his reach and grabbed Charles’ wrists, and pushed them down into the ground, holding tight. “You,” Erik chuckled, shaking his head and making melt drip into Charles’ face, “need to calm down.”

“Then make me,” was all Charles said.

Erik smiled his toothy grin. “Cheeky little shit."

But in the next moment he leaned down, snow still stuck in his eyebrows and kissed him. Letting out a soft sigh, Charles let his legs relax, the cold under his back not even registering in his mind as Erik gently nudged his mouth open, slow and quiet. No tongue, only his chapped lips pressing close, slightly parted as Charles held onto him by those narrow hips.

Erik’s hand gripped his in return, pulling him closer. Charles gladly let him, done fighting now. He felt flushed and heated in a way he hadn’t been close to this morning, and as the sun began to lower beyond the mansion, Charles looped his arms around Erik’s shoulders and forgot all about Aspen.

Letting him and Erik simply exist in this quiet vacuum of undisturbed whiteness, without a single care in the world.


	13. Low Season

To Erik, his Jewishness had always been something he’d been proud of. He’d never had a desire to fit in – being mutant, Jewish  _and_  gay helped that along – so from an early age, conventions had been a thing for malleable people without a mind of their own. When he was younger he’d actually felt a sort of annoyed disdain for the people who followed the stream. In particular, participated in the collective hysteric insanity that was the commercialism of Christmas.

Now, he’d left that behind, grown up a bit, and mostly saw it as an opportunity to get some easy, well-paid shifts at the movie theater.

The theater was open all year round – Christmas Day and New Year’s included, so there was always a need for people to handle the box office. So on Christmas Day, Erik bundled up and defied the small snow storm outside to walk through the slightly more subdued streets – the energy bustling from the parties in the apartments above ground – to get on the subway. The very last of the last minute shoppers had just started to turn home, and though the city would never come to a halt, it was softer and more open in this illuminated cold

Once at the theater, he entered through the back door, peeled of coat and hat and Charles’ Gryffindor muffler, all still dusted with a fine layer of snow from outside before he changed into the required t-shirt. The hallway was chilled with lingering cold that made the hairs on his arms stand on end as he pulled his sweater over his head to stuff it into his locker. It was not a pleasant experience, but once he’d gotten inside the box office, the gooseflesh on his would arms sink back all thanks to the popcorn machine that warmed the place up better than any space heater could.

Kitty was already busy handing tickets to the couple that headed towards the first salon when he slipped in through the half-door. They had started working at the cinema almost at the same time, and the stress during rush hours had made them closer than they normally would’ve been. Erik pushed with his powers at the cash register, making it slam shut before Kitty could, and making her spin around. As she spotted him, she let out a quiet, relieved sigh.

“You’re early,” she said, clicking the cash register open again, smoothing out the bills.

“Was running for the warmth,” Erik said, looking at the scheduled movies for the day.

Most of the bigger films had premièred before Christmas, and so there were no stressful shifts for a few days. Compared to a few nights before, when the latest Hobbit movie had run, the lounge was basically empty. There were some people sitting around in the sofas, waiting for their movie to come on, but none of the frenzy that had been buzzing in the building the last few days were nowhere in sight.

Looking out over the red lounge suite, Erik remembered he still needed to use his free tickets to take Charles to see it. Another perk of landing this job.

Kitty nodded in understanding, before he put on a smile just in time for a father and his daughter to walk up to the counter. The little girl had to stand on her tiptoes to reach over it as she slid the money over to Kitty’s waiting hand.

“Two tickets, please!” she said, loud and clear as if she'd practiced it several times.

Having the time, Kitty leaned a bit forward, her smile turning more genuine. “To which movie?”

The father’s eyebrows were knit in polite confusion as he turned to Erik. “The newest from Pixar? What’s it called?”

Erik filled in, pointing at the poster behind their heads. “Big Hero 6,” 

“The one with the talking marshmallow!” the girl chirped with beaming smile not even the slightest diminished by her missing front teeth.

Not good with children, Erik purposely went to hide behind the blazing, still popping popcorn machine, as Kitty typed in the code and slid the tickets over the edge.  

“All right, here you go,” she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Two tickets to Big Hero 6.”

“Thank you, movie lady!”

“You’re welcome. Do you want any snacks?” she asked, looking at the father. "We have small portions if you don't want too much."

He nodded and looked down at his daughter. “What do you think, darling? You want the usual?”

She smiled up at him, starting to jump up and down. "Yes, yes, please!"

“What’s the usual?” Kitty asked.

“Lollipops! And popcorn!” the girl said, once against peeking her nose over the counter and riveting her big eyes on Erik now. They were so intense, blue and beaming, he found himself forced to look away to get busy with the scoop as her father ordered medium popcorn and three lollipops.

Having gotten their snacks, they then slipped away to the second salon. Erik put down the scoop, turning to Kitty. “Are there any salons that need cleaning out?”

“Nope, I fixed that before you came. But I’ll need you to get that movie started in...” She looked down at her watch with a quick face. “Six minutes.”

“All right,” Erik said, and took the time to really soak into the warmth of the box office before he went out again.

The rest of the theater, apart from salons, wasn’t the best when adapting to the weather conditions outside the double doors. In winter, you shivered all the way through your shift unless you were in the box office, while in the summer, it was the last place on earth you wanted to be.

The only places in the theater that actual held a regulated temperature all year around, were the projecting booths. Designed to protect the film from getting overheated, but also not getting too cold, it was a sanctuary you could always count on – not only in the terms of temperature, but also alone-time.

Since he’d gotten his first job, Erik'd had sort of a personal _no-phone-during-work-_ policy, which was limited to answering calls from his mother. That had sort of changed now that he had Charles though – a person who, since they started dating, had gotten a real taste of his unlimited texts and what he could do with them. Just on the way here, Erik’s phone had buzzed maybe five times.

He’d gotten the commercials to start and blare out their tune, when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket once again. Hauling it out with his hand, Erik found something he wasn’t prepared for at all. It was a picture of Charles, in a horrible Christmas sweater, wearing an incredulous face as a pair of pink, fur-lined handcuffs dangled of his finger, all with the caption:

_My sister thinks we need to ‘spice things up’. I am (outwardly) shocked and appalled._

Erik choked at that, coughing so badly he started to cry.

And so it was, ultimately, Charles’ fault the movie was two minutes late.


	14. Three Sixty Degrees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saucer sleds are a hazard. Speaking from experience here.

The Westchester mansion may have been a lonely place growing up. Neglect and discomfort permeating the atmosphere, only saved by friendly, but paid, strangers. However, as they say, there’s always something good in all the bad.

Because where the company and people fell short, the environment made up for it in multum. The big echoing hallways, the high stairs with their smooth rails and all the nooks and crannies  _made_  for playing hide and seek, were more than enough to raise your spirit if you had a wild imagination and someone willing to play along.  

In a sense, it was the dream of any adventurous child, and then you hadn’t included the grounds. First the widespread lawns sprawling out from the graveled paths and hedges until they stumbled over a crest and slowly rolled down the slope and into a magical landscape of woods and bushes and forest where Raven even claimed that apart from squirrels, birds and rabbits, she’d even seen actual deer once.

Charles had never been the initially adventurous child. More content sitting inside reading, all of the trips into the woods had been due to Raven dragging him out on the maids’ order, saying that he’d dry up like raisin if he didn’t get out in the sun. So even if he’d been outside more – and had the unfortunate freckles to prove it – than he would have had he grown up alone, he’d never done it with enthusiasm, as much as with an onlooker’s amusement.

Thus, he’d never perfected the skill of sledding like his sister and Erik had.

Sticking his hands in his pocket, he watched Raven pushing the sled in front of her, picking up speed. As soon as she hit the crest, she jumped on the red danger, screeching in glee as it rushed down the slope in a blur of color and rasping snow.

To his left, Erik just dragged himself over the slope, saucer sled under his arm. Covered in snow and a few needles, he took Charles’ hand as it was held out to him, red faced, grinning and mind shining with glee. “Sure you’re not trying it out?”

Shaking his head, Charles leant into him, barely holding off a sneeze when a needle tickled his nose. “I’m fine.”

“Really.”

“There’s a huge bump in the middle," Charles said, pointing down the slope. "You could break your neck on that."

“Which is what makes it fun,” Erik pointed out, just as Raven’s scream rose in pitch when she flew off the bump, sailing a good five feet in the air before she crashed into the snow again, nearly tumbling off of her sled, laughter ringing through the cluster of trees below them.

“That isn’t safe,” Charles said, putting his cold cheek against Erik’s shoulder.

“Anything fun never is." Erik smiled his toothy smile again, poking his ribs with a sharp elbow. "Come on now, Charles.”

“Is he being a bore again?” Raven called from below, her blue skin a stark contrast against the whiteness around her.  “Don’t be such an old fart, Charles! Do something fun for once!”

Erik’s arm over his shoulders was warm and pleasant. “I’ll even go with you.”

“No, you maniac,” Charles laughed, shrugging off Erik’s arm with a sniff.  “ _If_ I go, I’ll go on my own!”

“Alright, alright” Erik said, holding his hands up in front of him. “Here you go, then.”

“Now?”

“Why not?”

And so, Charles found himself holding Erik’s metal saucer sled, which he’d made out of flattened soda cans bent into the right shape. Not that there were any evidence of that there. Down to the handles, it was smooth and rounded and looked just as safe as any of the usually plastic ones. Something which incidentally did play a part when Charles went up to the crest, warily studying the steep slope in front of him.

“What if I smack right into –”

“Won’t happen!” Raven said as she pulled herself over the crest. “See that?” she said, pointing at a big snowdrift at the end of the slope. “It’ll catch you if you crash.”

“So you really have no reason not to, Charles,” Erik said, mischief glinting in his eyes, no more than slits due to the smile taking up a better half of his face.

Charles sniffed. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“Do it then.”

Sending Erik a sour look, Charles put the sled saucer down on the ground before he folded himself into the seat. Using only his hands, he then gingerly started to drag himself over to the crest, heart beating like a panicked rabbit in his chest.

“Want a shove?” Erik asked.

“No!” Charles said, proud when his voice didn’t wobble on the single syllable.

To prove it, he inched just a little further and then, without hesitation, tipped himself over the edge. 

In hindsight, everything went wrong from the start. The last push made him pick up speed faster than he’d liked; causing him to scrunch up his face against the cold wind and limiting his vision in the process. And so, as he gripped the handles for dear life, he missed steering clear of the small bump in the slope. It would’ve gone unnoticed, hadn’t it been so that it made the saucer start spinning, making Charles ride back first, completely blind to what was ahead. Panic rising, he twisted his head around, desperately trying to turn the damn thing around, only to lock eyes on the enormous bump in the middle of the slope.

He barely had time to shout, before the saucer hit the pyramid of snow and –

He took to the air.

It was almost surreal, how it all seemed to happen in slow motion. One minute, he was sailing through the air, screaming and still upright, clutching the handles for all he was worth. The next, he was tipping, and then spinning, somersaulting and slamming into the ground – saucer flying one way, Charles the other. He tried to stop his rampage, snow going in his mouth and down his collar, but instead he picked up momentum, tumbling helplessly down the steep slope, over the snowdrift and straight into a bush with a _crash!_

“ _Charles_!”

Spitting snow out of his mouth, trying to catch his breath, he pulled himself out of the thicket. He felt sore, but nothing was broken, and as soon as he’d projected that thought to the two silhouettes on top of the slope, they both bowed forward, guffawing and shrieking with laughter so loud it echoed off the trees.

The trek upwards was the most humiliating thing Charles had ever experienced.

“That was  _the_  best thing I’ve ever seen!” Raven was wheezing with laughter as he made it over the crest, placing a hand on his shoulder, still wiping tear tracks of her cheeks with the other. “Oh my God, Charles! Look into my head – you have to see that, I swear it’s absolutely amazing!”

Ignoring her request, Charles pointed a finger at her. “You said it was safe!” he said, feeling his face going red with indignation – which only caused Raven to laugh even harder.

“Who said it wasn’t? You even did an actual  _back flip_!”

 “I could have died!”

“No, the snow is too soft,” Erik filled in, shoulders shaking with his withheld glee as he tucked Charles head under his chin. “You’re fine, right?”

The only reason Charles tolerated Erik’s arms around him, was due to the genuinely gentle hands stroking up and down his arms. His heart was still racing in time with the adrenaline rush, but nothing hurt. In fact, it made him feel rather lightheaded.  

“Yes. It’s fine. Could have been worse.”

“See? Want to go again then, Mr. Three Sixty?” Erik asked, still grinning.

Charles simply pushed his still snow covered hand in his face as retort.


	15. Speculation

No matter what Erik said, or how his mother tried to stop him from it, Charles wasn't totally hopeless in the kitchen.

Sure, cooking food on the stove wasn't something he felt confident doing a lot – numerous accidents ending with a blaring fire alarm and smoke had taken care of that – but oven use was another thing entirely. It had started when Raven had been in a snickerdoodle phase a few years back, which had then turned into a brownie phase that never went away. Along the way, Charles had found that he actually enjoyed it, and at the end of the day, homemade stuff was always better than anything you could buy for money. He'd even go as far as to say he was getting pretty good at it, with all the practice of trial and error he'd gotten over the years.

So the puzzled look Erik shot him from the stove when he started to pull the dry ingredients from the shelf wasn’t wholly deserved.

“What?” Charles said, falling onto the flats of his feet from his tiptoes. "What now?"

“Do you want me pull out the fire extinguisher already?” Erik replied, swirling the melting butter around in the saucepan on the stove.

Charles sent him a look. “No. Stop being an asshole.”

“I’m not! Just being honest!" He turned the hotplate off and shuffled up behind Charles, nose still slightly red from the cold outside.

After they’d finished up the snowman and the darkness had started to creep up on them for real, they’d decided that it was time to head back inside and eat and drink something hot to help along the blood flow to the extremities. At the end of the counter the kettle was already heating up, and as it be too hot to drink for another ten minutes, cookies were perfect.

Charles thumped down the pack of flour on the counter as Erik continued. “You can’t blame me for wanting to take safety precautions, considering your history. The pancakes, Charles?” 

“I know how to use a bowl and a weigh, you know. It’s neither machinery nor anything to do with heat,” Charles said, taking out a bowl from a cupboard. “It’ll be fine.”

Erik made a non-committal noise, murmuring something about how it was still in the kitchen, but he plucked the baking soda off of the shelf, saving Charles from climbing onto the counter. Charles patted his side in thanks, feeling the heat and solidness of Erik’s skin even through his sweater.

In return, Erik raked his fingers over his scalp, massaging the skin lightly with his nails.

Charles shivered at the touch. He'd always been hyper-sensitive there, ever since his telepathy really kicked into gear. Not that he'd told Erik. Not yet, at least.

“So, what are we making, really?” Erik asked, leaning his cheek on Charles’ shoulder as he swiveled the saucepan on the stove with a twist of his wrist.

“Chocolate chip,” Charles said, weighing out the flour with careful movements. “Sound good?”

“Mmm,” was Erik’s only answer, before he suppressed a yawn against Charles' shoulder, his jaw all but creaking with the strain.

And not for the first time, Charles wondered how Erik’s mouth would feel around him, wet and hot. But he blocked it out immediately before his flushed face would catch attention.

In the same way he’d never prided himself in being selfless, Charles had never prided himself in being patient or innocent. Not that it was wholly due to a flaw of character, but rather, it was an adverse reaction to being a powerful telepath from a young age. Being riddled by thoughts and wishes all times of the day, it wasn’t odd for the curious mind of an insomniac child to linger on the thoughts he hadn’t encountered before, didn't fully comprehend. Particularly when those thoughts made people’s minds light up in such fascinating patterns – pulsating, long and slow and red or hectic and frenzied and blooming like white firework, but always tinted with a pleasurable glow that made Charles quiver all the way down to his bones.

When he’d made the connection to that particular pleasure – that in some distant ways reminded him of eating really good chocolate, listening to jazz or stretching after an especially long and tough run – to be the one of the sexual kind, he had started to become aware of just how much taboo there was around a subject that was so present in everyday life. Something so intrinsic to humanity, and yet, the presence or absence of sexuality was always to be hushed, repressed and never to be talked about without scandal.

Charles had never found it repulsing, shameful or any other adjective with negative connotations. Rather, he'd made up his mind before society's enforced shame had its chance to dig its claws in. He wasn’t going to deny that the constantly present glow hadn’t made him a little more anticipatory and eager to experience it firsthand a little earlier than normal. It had been quite a while since he’d done anything, though, and as great as she'd been for the time they'd been together, Gaby wasn't Erik. It would be two wholly different experiences. In terms of, well, everything.

It was also getting harder not to think or project any of the many scenarios swirling around in his head to Erik. Not that he'd ever do it. Just as he'd set up rules for himself, Charles would never be able to live with himself if he forced that on anyone, least of all Erik. However, there never seemed to be a good moment to simply ask him if he wanted to. Charles wasn’t sure how Erik felt about it – how far he’d be willing to go, if he wanted to go at all. In worst case, Charles’d end up pushing Erik away with his foot-in-mouth syndrome, even if Erik actually wanted to get more intimate than they already were. And to be perfectly honest, Charles would do anything to avoid that, partly since he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold this out without doing something more drastic than serial masturbating in the shower.

“I can hear you think,” Erik mumbled against his neck, his lips against Charles' neck effectively pulling Charles out of his thoughts. “It sounds like a quiet whirring, did I ever tell you that? Just humming like an engine.”

“Sorry," Charles touched his hand, pushing his speculations down and under. "And no, I don’t think so.”

Erik just hummed, hugging him tighter as well as leaning all of himself onto Charles as it he was some sort of personal stand. “It does. Care to share?”

Charles swallowed, fingering at a loose thread on the cuff of Erik's sweater. “Maybe later,” he then smiled, cracking the eggs in.

And as he stirred the batter, and clicked out the cookies on the sheet, he tried  _not_  to think about how solid and warm and breathtakingly  _real_  Erik was along his side. 

Sometimes, some things simply had to wait for the right moment.

 


	16. Lights

Winter in New York could be one of two things:

It could be a dirty, sludgy mess of frustration and gravel, with greasy windows looking down at you as you trudged through every day trying to ignore the grey bleakness of the impenetrable clouds above. It’d would be so wet the cold itself would reach out its smudged tendrils of cold and tuck itself in under your skin, making you feel like a used dishrag until the day when the sun finally broke through enough to burn it all away.

Or it could be a glittering, sparkling wonder of white streets with drifts of snow reflecting the different colored lights back into the air, making it shine with a luminous glow that was enough of a substitute for the sun in the darkest of times. When the winter fell like that, it didn’t change the faces of the haggard and stressed, but it filled something up with a tentative hopefulness which lit up the already happy ones and made their enthusiasm shine even warmer as if just to spite the smothering chill around them.

And that very particular spite must have traveled through the general magnetic buzz of the city and straight into Erik’s bones, because he caught himself honest to God  _skipping_  down the sidewalk as he neared his stop where they were to meet up.

Charles was standing by the crossing, hopping restlessly from foot to foot to keep the biting cold at bay. It was just below ten degrees, as it had been when they were out at the rink, but now the wind had made it drop even further – Erik’s muffler the only thing saving his nose from freezing solid.

When he came close enough, Erik tapped Charles on the shoulder. “You really should start using a hat. I can see your red ears from miles off. ”

At the sound of his voice, Charles spun around. He smiled, cheeks fiery red under the specks of his freckles. “I would, but I’m vain,” he said, reaching his arms out, seeming to go for a hug. Just when Erik was about to reciprocate, Charles stopped himself short, settling for patting his hands along Erik’s arms instead.

Trapped, Erik kept his arms at his sides, suddenly awkward.  The giddiness went into hibernation with the butterflies as he cleared his throat. “You wanted to look at lights?”

Charles’ cheeks flushed, his eyes darting up, wide. “It was mostly – um. Yeah,” he then said, nodding frantically, throat bobbing.

There was something that was slightly off, something missing, but Erik decided to shrug it off for now. “Come on then,” he said, starting down the street.

Whiteness creaking under the soles of their shoes, they started walking through the throngs of people. Metal snapped in the cold, not wholly unlike the pipes in the walls at home, but the hum of all the additional lights were drowning it out unless Erik concentrated. Beside him, so close their shoulders constantly brushed, Charles walked quickly, his breath coming out as translucent clouds in the fragile air as his eyes trailed the abundance of glittering and flickering light dots around and over the streets.

Silence had never been anything that bothered either of them – or rather, it bothered Charles but not in Erik’s company – and so Erik tried to ignore the growing stilt between them. He’d ventured out today, feeling light and floating.

Something which Charles didn’t seem to share. Instead, Erik could swear he heard Charles thinking - emitting a low-level whirring sound as his synapses fired away, around and around. And for someone as talkative as his ego was big, it was certainly worrying. Erik, who’d never been one to boast emotions in the way Charles did, tried not to let it bother him. Maybe Charles just had something on his mind, not Erik-related. Which he was wholly entitled to. Erik wasn’t going to let it bother him.

He held out until they were nearing the skating rink once again. Then, before one of the benches identical to the one they’d sat on a few days ago, Erik stopped and turned to face Charles directly. “What is up with you today? Did something happen?”

As expected, Charles froze. In the span of second, all of his joints rusted shut, before his eyebrows knitted, as if there was something he hadn’t realized. But then his shoulders sagged, and Erik saw just how tense he’d been.

“I guess I just,” Charles made a vague gesture with his hands. “Don’t really know where – what – we are. Now. I mean.”

“What?”

Charles briefly stuck his hands in his pockets, pulled them out just as quickly. “Are we – I know I said last time was a date, but I just – are we dating now?”

Erik simply stared at him. “What?” he said again, feeling incredibly dumb but finding no other words..

“I mean – are we? Can I – are we a couple now? Do you want that? For me to be your boyfriend? Officially?” Charles said, and Erik almost would’ve laughed at how wound up he was, hadn’t Charles sounded so genuinely confused. “I know you feel attracted – and more and that we’re basically the same there I don’t doubt that so this is not about that if you were worried about that because it isn’t – to me, but that doesn’t guarantee that we want the same things, you know?”

Stumbling into Charles’ space, Erik took his small, mitten-clad hands in his own, curling his fingers around them tightly. “Are you serious?” he said, relief settling in his stomach. “I told you, I lo– like you, over the phone. I thought it was obvious. I haven't been exactly subtle, have I?”

Charles went all but scarlet behind his freckles, eyes wide. “No, I’m sorry – I know.”

Erik would forever deny that his face felt way warmer than usual. “No, n-no it’s fine,”  he said, not daring to meet Charles’ look.

Instead, he leant down until their foreheads were touching. The frost in Charles’ hair crunched as it flattened.

“So we’re pretty much as officially together as we’ll be, I guess.”

“Okay.”

Breathing out a hot burst against Erik’s chin, Charles looked up through his lashes. “I’m sorry. I just - we never confirmed anything. And –”

“We don’t need to label everything,” Erik interrupted.

“No, maybe not,” Charles said. “But this is important to me, so I wanted to be sure we were, you know. Both okay with it. Being together, as boyfriends. So that I could still do this.”

And so he grabbed Erik’s muffler, pressing their lips together again. Counterbalancing, Erik took Charles face in his hands, holding him still as he deepened the kiss. Smiling against his lips, Charles hummed, his confidence returning to his motions as he pulled Erik even closer, tilting his head lest their noses smack together and it would all end in tears.

They kissed until they were both breathing heavily, Erik’s cold-sore knees made weak by something entirely different. The slight apprehension was fading, and as he looked into Charles’ blown eyes and beaming smile, the last of it went up in smoke.

“So, should we concentrate on those lights now?”

Charles elbowed him lightly in the side. “They’ll be there next year too,” he said, at the same time a curl of silver blue laced around Erik’s mind, telling him that this was a moment to be savored.

Erik couldn’t agree more.

 


	17. Bubble

After the cookies had baked, warm sweetness permeating the air, they naturally transferred into the living room. Around them, the mansion grumbled ominously in time with the blizzard outside. It had arrived between heartbeats and now the winds roared impossibly loudly around them, closing in like a leviathan’s jaw. But some of the chill had immediately seeped out of the hardwood floors once Charles had gotten the fire started in the huge fireplace.

It spread a warm glow over the room, resin snapping while they huddled on the floor in front of the couch, wrapped in blankets and video game controllers in hand.

“I think we need to go about it from the platform up there,” Charles said, pointing with his controller in the general direction of the top left corner of the screen. “Then you’ll jump down, I’ll shoot the portal over here, and then it’ll give you enough momentum to fly to the right there.”

Erik nodded against Charles’ shoulder, re-arranging his grip, “Yeah.”

He made his robot go through the wall and wait obediently on the platform. It was a little harder to play than usual, since the free space between his elbows was currently occupied by Charles. During the course of the evening Charles had slowly migrated from sitting on the carpet beside Erik, to leaning against his shoulder to finally sit in his lap, his back pressed along Erik’s chest and his elbows comfortably supported by Erik’s bent knees.

It was a sneaky move, and a very Charles thing to do.

It wasn't any news that Charles was a very tactile person, not only with Erik, but with virtually everyone. Once he’d gotten permission to physically – and telepathically – touch someone, he didn’t stop unless you explicitly told him to. Anything from hugs, placing hands on people’s elbows, touching their hair to basically everything and anything that they allowed him to do.

Before all this, Erik had known it was something that simply enhanced Charles’ connection to people, made it brighter and more nuanced, but he had nonetheless been annoyed. In hindsight, it had obviously been envy. But then, he had tried not to let it get to him, tried to reason himself out of it before he went insane. There had been zero reason for him to go all caveman on who Charles chose to touch. Emotions were useless and Charles was his friend and allowed to be touchy-feely if he wanted to. Especially since Erik had – and still – liked it as long as the touch was limited to Erik, his skin and no one else’s.

He was awoken from his reverie by a mental version of an elbow to the ribs. Blinking, he found Charles looking up at him, grinning.

“Are you spacing out on me?”

Erik cleared his throat. “No. Sorry.”

At that, Charles just laughed, silver blue coloring the inside of Erik’s mind. “It’s fine,” he said, shifting a bit, absentmindedly running his hand up and down Erik’s thigh – his warm and strong palm unconsciously caressing along the inside of Erik’s thigh.

His thumb nearly brushed too close, and all of a sudden, it got a little harder to breathe. In the same movement Charles picked up his controller again, Erik shifted backwards. Nothing would make things more awkward than to have Charles involuntarily rub his ass against his hard-on. Not that Erik had any objections against the physical action – in fact, he’d very much like to, or even better, have Charles’ hand do it –

It was just that he had no idea how to go about it.

They had been going out for a solid month now, kisses being in the daily repertoire, but they hadn’t gone any further than hands fumbling under shirts when a make-out session got heated. Probably not for lack of interest – Charles would without doubt be all gung-ho about it when it came to – but there was this stilted awkwardness surrounding it. Mainly rooted in the fact that Charles had experience and Erik did not.

He wasn’t ashamed of it, precisely. Charles sometimes told him that he had a bit of old man morals when it came to intimacy, but the contrast between them also became all the more clear in the light of Charles' open mind regarding sex. Erik hadn’t listened too closely when Charles had went on Gabby; how wonderful, funny, great etc. and everything that flings always were before they dissolved into a mess of failed expectations and fading interest. But six months of delusion had apparently been enough for Charles to lose his virginity.

Erik was embarrassed by himself, but he was more than a little bit bothered by Charles' history. Not because of what it implied, but rather because of the simple reason they hadn’t been and never would be each other’s firsts – no matter how clumsy, awkward or everything it would turn out to be. It’d be all of that for sure, but it would be okay because it would be with Charles, who was unashamed about himself, who knew where to touch to make Erik shiver, but was also so pliant every time they’d made out, his body warm and loose under Erik, open for –

Charles’ hand slid up to the crease of his thigh.

Erik's mind screeched to a halt.

“Sorry, sorry, I just –” Charles stammered, his hand beginning to fall away.

Erik caught it before it got too far. At the touch, he had become very aware of how the floor felt underneath him – how his tongue lay in his mouth, how the blood was thrumming in his veins and just how warm Charles was against his chest.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, heart all but racing in his chest. Every word felt as if it was out of place, but somewhere he knew that it had to be said. In his mind, Erik had always thought that the transition to sex would be smooth and wordless. But then again – Charles was real, here in his lap and so far removed from any of the scenarios in Erik’s head it didn’t matter.

For a moment, he didn’t do anything. Then, he tentatively pressed the hand back against his thigh, sliding it higher.

“Okay,” Charles whispered, and where he normally would’ve been smirking, there was now a rather shaky, but still excited, smile in its place. Erik almost grabbed his face and kissed him senseless, but Charles beat him to it with his words.

“Want to try it?”

Swallowing thickly, blood rushing forth and making his groin all but pulse, Erik nodded. “Yes.”

Letting his hands fall to Charles’ hips, settling naturally, he pulled him towards him, making them rub against each other. At that, Charles gasped – a short, sharp breath – sending what felt like a lightning bolt shoot up Erik’s spine. Groaning, he pressed his forehead to Charles’ nape, hugging him tightly. Still so hard he felt like he might die from the pressure, but at the same time he felt oddly untethered – like one more touch would unravel him and make the pieces float into space – he made sure Charles' hand was still in place.

Charles’ other hand came up to pat his side. “Okay,” he said, breathless, and crawled off Erik’s lap to lie down.

It was rather comfortable on the floor, the carpet soft as sin and littered with cushions as it was. Charles stretched out a hand over his head and put one of them under his head, before he pulled Erik down to lie on top of him, hips bracketed by Charles’ short, strong legs. The position made their groins press together, the heat all but incendiary and Erik really couldn’t help it but stutter forward when he felt just how hard Charles was as well.

Charles moaned, mouth open and eyes clenched shut, before he ran his fingers through Erik’s hair and pulled him into a bruising kiss. Following willingly, Erik pressed them together again, suddenly bolder since the pressure felt so good, he simply couldn’t not keep the motion up – one hand pushing Charles’ thigh higher, the other gripping his hair while they rutted against each other, panting in the warm air, still fully clothed. 

It didn't matter, however, when Charles' hand snaked under his shirt and fingered at the hem of his jeans; almost slipping inside. Erik stopped kissing him for a moment, staring. Charles stared back, daring, his hand slipping lower. When Erik didn't do anything, he let them both slip inside and gripped Erik's ass harder, spurring him on. And somehow, that made a current struck through Erik's body, causing him to shiver from scalp to soles.

Time seemed to stop, enclosed in the burning pleasure of rutting and breathless kisses, heat and tension spiraling out of control, until Charles suddenly tightened his legs harder around him, twitching. Erik stuttered, the sensation of something molten pooling at the base of his spine sharply increasing.

“Erik,” Charles panted, his nails digging into Erik's flesh, “ _Erik_ , oh  _god_  –”

His eyes clenched shut, and as Erik watched, with slack-jawed awe, Charles came – keening as his body convulsed, repeatedly, and he sank back into the pillows, completely boneless.

Then, he then reached for Erik, flattening his hand against Erik’s fly – and Erik didn’t stand a chance. It blindsided him, hit him like a whip, his eyes slamming shut and still it was as if it was happening in slow-motion – the rushing feeling, the tightening of his balls in the confined space of his jeans and the way he didn’t seemed to be able to breathe as it hit.

Still gasping, he lowered himself down and buried his face in the crook of Charles' neck, clinging to him as if his life depended on it. Charles held on just as tightly, and Erik could feel the rapid beat of his heart under his ear – the rushing of the iron in his blood that was oddly calming as he tried to get his own heart under control. The fire crackled somewhere behind him, and when his pulse did slow, the floor seemed softer and softer with each passing minute. He felt so – sated and loosened in a way he hadn’t felt in forever. As he started to concentrate on it, the dazed feeling started to spread to his mind as well, as if he were inside a bubble rather than open air.

He was on his way to give in to the sleepiness, when Charles shifted under him. “See? Was that scary?,” he mumbled into Erik’s hair, nuzzling it like a cat. “It isn't, right?”

Not knowing what to say, if anything, Erik lifted his head only far enough to plant a kiss on the ticklish spot behind Charles ear, making him twitch away, chuckling. They would probably have to move soon, but for the moment, they were perfectly content exactly where they were.


	18. Blush

Erik had lived in New York his whole life, so the winters weren’t something terrible or unusual. From a very early age, you learned to invest in a hard-wearing coat as well as the intrinsic value of a good muffler which could prove to be your last hope when the Eastern winds blew in from the Atlantic; making the raw, damp cold wrap itself around your bones so tightly it felt you might choke on it.

Pulling said muffler even tighter, Erik bowed his head and stomped on down to the subway. The stop was a wet throng of wool and people and the cloyingly sweet smells from the food stands that were upping up their game in preparation for the incoming holidays. The Salvation Army’s bells were ringing as they shouted out the slogans, stopping no one, and the movement of the unclean alloys made the back of Erik’s head throb.

Things weren’t helped with how people persisted with shoving him out of the way because he looked as if he be one to tolerate it, and thus more than one self-righteous middle-aged man found himself dragged off in the wrong direction by their belt-buckle alone.

Adjusting the fabric over his mouth to hide his grin, Erik marched on, feeling a bit lighter as he easily slipped through the turnstile completely cardless. Sneaking into the first car heading towards Long Island, he magnetized himself to one of the poles, schooling his face into something neutral. He’d crashed onto the subway ever since he manifested – as a way to save money for more important things – but it was always such a power rush, making him feel invincible in a way that few things could.

Normally, Erik wouldn’t have left his bed and mountain of blankets in the draughty Queens apartment at all while the wind was roaring like this, and certainly not in the middle of the mindless Christmas rush. However, that was under normal circumstances. And although he wouldn’t admit under the pain of death, he did, unfortunately, have a weakness.

A weakness that had called last night, asking if he would come and help pick out a present for a certain little sister. Said weakness had actually all but begged for any sort of assistance, because he couldn’t use his telepathy to get a hint for this sort of thing, since that would kill the holiday spirit. Then it was the fact that it would be a perfect time for them to hang out for a bit somewhere that wasn’t either of their homes.

Erik had been absolutely speechless; Charles had taken his silence as a yes and hanged up.

The ride was fairly short, but Erik still managed to fall asleep to the hum of the train all around him. He was jerked awake just in time to slip out of the car and onto the platform. Watching the train disappear into the tunnel, sleep still clinging to his vision, he felt rather blurred around the edges when all the metal took off and he still stood, feet rooted on the ground.

_you feel a bit fuzzy even to me you'll see it’ll pass._

Snapping his head around, Charles suddenly all but appeared out of thin air before him, hands in his pockets and gentle smile on his lips.

“Did you wait long?” Erik asked.

Charles shook his head, a few snowflakes from his walk through the storm falling out of his hair. “No, just came here actually. Decided to sleep in a bit.”

“How some can indulge in such luxuries,” Erik said under his breath, and promptly earned himself a surprisingly hard punch to the shoulder.

“Be nice!” Charles said, but his eyes were shining with mischief.

“I’m always nice,” Erik smiled with half of his mouth to prove it.

Charles just shook his head again, this time in exasperation, and started to drag Erik with him towards to the escalators.

They rode up to the surface, exiting onto one of the busy streets. Defying the weather, it was slightly more crowded than it had been in the subway, but here it felt like they’d landed on another planet. Where the stress underground had been sort of contained, everyone having a purpose and a destination, the streets were like unpausing a boss battle in a game you’d stopped playing many years ago and were still be expected to know all the special attacks to.

The dizziness from before was almost enough to make Erik sway directly into a pack of nuns, who were chatting loudly about where to head off next. Thankfully, Charles’ hand shot out and got hold of him in the last minute, pulling him along on the far edge of the street where there were less people and more shopping windows and decorations.

“So what are we getting her?” Erik shouted over the bustle around them. “Now that you’ve had time to think?”

 _i thought about clothing or jewelry first, but it feels too impersonal,_ Charles answered, his sliver blue projection easily dispersing Erik’s dizziness.  _so i’m going in blind here._

Having learnt how to channel his thoughts early on, Erik sent back, s _omething to eat, maybe?_

 _she’s taken to training a lot, so no candies, as boring as it is_ , Charles replied, his telepathic sigh almost tangible. 

_alcohol always work_

Charles looked back at him over his shoulder, exasperated and fond all the same.  _oh stop it you i’m not giving my sister booze_

Catching up to Charles again so he wouldn’t lose him to the light blizzard, Erik made sure their shoulders touched as they walked. He sort of wanted to lace his fingers with Charles’, hold him close, but the biting winds were way too cold to allow any bare skin to come in contact with the air. Instead, he settled for a firm grip on the metal in the simple chain on Charles’ wrist; felt the worn edges and scratches were it rested, soft and secure over the pulse point that indicated he was just as full of life as he should be.

Knocking his shoulder into Charles to gain his attention, Erik shared his idea.

 _it doesn’t have to be impersonal though,_ he sent, tightening the bracelet for a quick moment, like a reassuring squeeze.

_?_

_jewelry,_ Erik clarified when it became apparent Charles hadn’t understood at all.  _we can get her something practical like a clock locket or something._

As he went quiet for a moment, Erik could feel the cogs in Charles’ mind working through their slight connection, ticking not unlike the arms of a watch. Charles swept his eyes over the street, in front and then back again before he nodded.

_that’s a really good idea actually she is always late and has been complaining about how heavy her wrist watch is besides moira works in a shop not too long from here._

Damning the public opinions to hell, Erik gave in and slung his arm over Charles’ shoulders,  _lead the way then, captain_

_you’re insufferable._

Walking briskly to keep warm, they cut through the crowds with an ease only slightly helped by the abundance of loose change that inhabited pockets to left and right. Charles caught onto what he was doing about halfway, but where he otherwise would’ve told Erik to keep it down since they were in public, he just smiled and bumped into Erik’s shoulder, letting it be.

Thanks to that, they made it to the shop in less than ten minutes.

A welcoming bell above the door jingled as they entered. It was a small store, but the interior was nice and light, which made it feel bigger despite all the people thronging in front of the showcases. The pure silver, gold and occasional platinum hummed to Erik in perfect harmony, and he made a mental note to slip into jewelry stores more often.

Charles went right up to the counter. Almost immediately a certain human emerged from behind curtain, cheeks flushed and her sleek brown hair tied into a surprisingly nice ponytail compared to her wild and obviously stressed eyes. Moira MacTaggert had been one of Charles’ best friends ever since middle school, and now they were both heavily involved in the Model UN taking place in March. She was also one of the few humans that Erik could say – with some difficulty – that he, on some level, more or less admired.

Still frazzled, Moira laid her eyes on Charles, and smiled. “Charles! And Erik too, as usual,” she said, smoothing her hands over her apron. “So, how can I help you guys?”

Charles sent Erik a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, one that Erik almost missed, but Moira sure as hell didn’t. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Engagement rings? Already, Charles?”

“Oh shut it,” Charles told her, but he flushed bright red all the way up to his ears. Erik couldn’t stop the grin before it was already halfway done.

“Sorry, had to check,” Moira said, holding up her hands in mock-defense, while grinning like the Chesire cat. “It’s merely very good for business.”

Dismissing it, Charles marched on. “Do you have any clockwork lockets?” he said, still very much red.

Moira dropped the grin and bit her lip. “I think so,” she said, thoughtfully. “Just let me go have a look – be right back!”

With those words she disappeared again, leaving Charles to stare bashfully to the left and fiddling with the displays on the counter while Erik just watched him, laughing. “Too early, you say?”

“I told you to be nice,” Charles said, but it was not much oomph in the words at all.

“I’m always nice,” Erik countered, bumping his shoulder into Charles’. “Also, who else would I marry?”

If Charles blush had been violent before, it was nothing compared to the one burning his face now. He opened his mouth, only to close it again and Erik could feel his fluster and shocked embarrassment like a mosquito in the back of his mind. So he pulled off his glove and tucked a stray lock of Charles’ hair behind his ear, quick and wont, before putting it back on.

That made Charles finally look up from his fiddling, but that was when Moira decided to come back with three long, flat boxes in her hands.

“Here we go!” she said, laying the boxes up on the counter, opening them up to display what was inside. It was all very sleek and neat designs, while they visually still held on to the old quality and weight of the traditional pocket watch.

“We’ll take that one,” Erik said almost immediately as he found the one with the purest of silver. It was simple, but practical, and Raven would probably appreciate it. Charles stroked his finger over it, before he agreed.

Charles paid and let Moira wrap it up with swift movements, before they said goodbye and stumbled onto the streets again. The worst of the wind had died down, and so it was if possible even more people bustling about and Erik felt Charles’ hand close around his.

_i can’t believe you said that_

_?_

Once again, Charles just shook his head, but he squeezed Erik’s hand tightly.  _be nice you know what i mean,_ he sent, and though the cold was rather biting, his flush had not wholly subsided yet.

 _well it’s true. at least for now,_ Erik thought back.

Beside him, Charles made a noise, burrowing further into his scarf, but not enough to hide his pleased grin, nor the flaring cheeks. Erik hadn’t thought about it much before, but he really loved Charles’ ability to blush so thoroughly. 

He squeezed back, and added,  _and you know i’m always nice_


	19. Communication

After a Christmas dinner prepared by the chefs and eaten in silence, the residents of the Xavier household dissolved into different parts of the house. Sharon sashayed away towards the music room with her wine glass clutched like a life line in her hand, while Kurt disappeared out the door – where to, no one neither knew nor cared.

Charles and Raven on the other hand, quietly slipped into the living room, locking the double doors behind them. There was already a fire crackling in the fire place, staving off the lingering cold. Two filled mugs of eggnog – not spiked – sat on the coffee table, along with their cell phones. Since this was supposed to be quality time, the life lines that had helped both of them through the awful dinner weren't really needed. Charles had messaged Erik several times, and even though Erik hadn't replied, it had been a surprisingly big comfort.

Raven bundled herself up in the blankets on the couch, while Charles went and picked out The Classic Christmas Album from the rack of vinyl still hanging on the wall.

Of course they could hook up their phones to the sound system – using Spotify or anything modern and simply stream the remastered version of the album – but there was a deep sentimental value in the scratch of the needle across the grooves in the vinyl spinning on the old turntable in the corner. The imperfections, the scratchy almost dust-like sound quality to the old carols was enough to make Charles’ chest clench in a way more fitted at a memorial than Christmas Day.

Six years could be an awfully long time when your whole world was turned upside down.

Picking up the presents from under the tree, Charles dumped them on the couch before sitting down across from Raven, who’d pulled up the hood of the in the morning acclaimed hoodie, and was excitedly clapping her hands.

“So, can I start?”

“Sure. Which one do you want first?” Charles made a quick gesture about the small cluster of presents. They had bought two each, and that was also all there was. A considerable sum of money had almost certainly been automatically transferred to each of their accounts on the 24th. All neglect from Kurt was just welcome, but despite the fact that Charles had stopped expecting anything a long time ago, Sharon’s obvious indifference still stung acidly in the back of his throat.

Raven seemed unaffected by it, though she’d always been less forgiving and better at compartmentalizing that Charles ever was.

“That one,” she said, pointing at a red present much more nicely wrapped than any of the others between them. Charles tossed it to her, before he relaxed back into the soft cushions, watching as she revealed the long, flat box underneath, humming along to one of the carols.

Ella Fitzgerald’s smooth, smokey voice rang out across the room, accompanied by Charles’ –  until Raven shook her head at him.

“You can’t even hold the key,” she said, but smiling fondly, as she picked off the lid, gasping at the sight of the locket. Ever so gently, she pulled it out, looking shocked and very, very pleased. Charles reminded himself to give Erik a pat on the back for that one.

“Wow, thank you!” she burst out, throwing herself over the couch to give him a quick, one-armed hug. “It’s so pretty!”

“It was Erik’s idea,” Charles said honestly, shrugging, but Raven didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, she gently dragged her fingertips over the latch on the side, popping it open. It wasn’t a personalized item, but for the way Raven was studying it, it might as well be.

After a while, she turned around, mentioning for him to clasp it around his neck.

When he was done, the thick and surprisingly light clasp resting at her nape, she reached into the pile of three and picked out a blue, rectangular packet with a big, but crooked bow on top.  It too was rather light, and made a soft thudding, slightly rustling sound when he shook it about.

“Open it,” Raven said, her face doing something that Charles didn’t trust at all, telepathy and all.

Carefully as to not tear something, he peeled off the tape off the paper and unwrapped the box. It was an inconspicuous one – one of the cardboard ones the teabags usually came in – and Charles narrowed his eyes and shot Raven a curious look before he pulled off the lid.

And promptly choked on his own breath.

Blushing so hard he might all but faint from the pressure, Charles pulled up the fur-lined handcuffs, letting them dangle from his fingertips. He opened his mouth several times, only to close it again before he settled for instinct.

“ _Are you serious_?” he forced out, voice several octaves higher than usual. “Where did you even  _get_ these?”

His sister just answered by bursting out into a giggle fit, drowning out the music in the background.

“Raven!”

“What do you think? Emma, who else?”

“I’m forbidding you to ever hang out with her again,” Charles stated, letting the cuffs slip back into the box, cheeks aflame even worse than they had been a two weeks ago at Erik’s mock proposal, which was saying something about his state.

“Emma is fun, Charles, once you get under that exterior. You, if anyone, should know that. Just look at Mr. Bottled Up – you have that type figured out.”

Face still burning, Charles looked into the fire still roaring in the fire place. “Erik’s not that bad,” he said, picking up another present from the pile.

“Give me proof.”

“He helped me get your present.”

Raven tilted her head, nodding in appreciation. “What else?”

Not thinking about the joke – that harmless little joke that was way too early to think about now anyways Xavier, come on get a grip – Charles sighed. “Stop hassling him, Raven. You have known him for as long as I have.”

“As your best friend, yes. As your boyfriend, no.”

At that Charles just groaned. “We’ve liked each other for years. It’s not that much –”

“Of a difference? Let me tell you, most friends don’t make bedroom eyes at each other all the time and neck for hours on the couch.”

“We haven’t even made out on the couch yet,” Charles said, exasperated in the hope of making her change the subject.

It got the totally opposite effect. “You haven’t _made out on the couch?_ ” Raven all but shrieked as her yellow eyes got big like saucers. “Oh my  _God_ , Charles! You’re in the newly wed stage – you’re supposed to be disgusting!”

At that Charles sent her a look. “Thank you for that.”

“No, I mean,” Raven said, taking a deep breath. “Look, don’t shy from it, okay? If you both want it, don’t drag it out because of some  _conventions_  saying you should wait to, what, third date or whatever. We’re a new generation, a queer generation – and a mutant one – so those things don’t apply to us at all. It’s just old rules to keep young people in check, as if someone is keeping a goddamned tally about how well we behave.”

Hearing the familiar words, Charles felt a smile tug at his lips. “You’ve been lectured by Angel.”

“Not entirely. The conventions part is all from your boy,” Raven said, refolding her legs so she could lean her elbow on her knee and waggle her eyebrows.

Charles chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”

“But the sex thing is all Angel.”

“Who said anything about sex?”

Raven snorted. “You are such a prude.”

“I am not,” Charles retorted, sitting up a little straighter and put yet a bit more effort into forcing down his impossible blush. Really, it struck like lightning but clung to his skin like waterproof markers for hours on end. He wasn’t even embarrassed anymore.

“In general and regarding others, no. About yourself? Yes,” Rave said, tucking a lock of her red hair behind her ear.

“Maybe,” Charles huffed, “because I find that to be personal information. Private information.”

“Says the person who overheard Ms. Potts getting it on with uncle Stark in the library – and shared it with everyone.”

“That was an accident! I was six!”

“Accident or not – wasn’t really private for her,” Raven countered, one eyebrow raised.

Suddenly feeling very open, Charles hugged himself tightly. “I’d never read your mind without permission on purpose. Never,” he said, face still hot and very much uncomfortable. The vinyl was still spinning on the turntable, and then Raven’s arms came around his shoulders, pulling him close.

Sighing, she then said. “I know. I trust you, old fart.”

Instead of answering, Charles interlaced their fingers, giving her a stilted smile. Raven knocked her forehead into his shoulder, causing Charles to swat her away.

“Now, pick up those handcuffs again.”

Looking down at his still pure hands, Charles pulled back. “Why?”

“Because,” Raven said, snatching Charles phone from where he’d disposed it on the coffee table. “Erik is working, what I assume to be a very boring shift, and you totally need to show him what I gave you.”

“No?”

“Yes, you do. Stop hiding – out and proud, come on.”

“Only if I get to write the caption.”

Disappointment and something less defined flashed over Raven’s face, before she sighed. “Fine, alright. Now, pick them up.”

And so Charles found himself sitting cross-legged handcuffs dangling off one finger, wearing the world’s most incredulous facial expression, as Raven took the picture. It felt like getting your teeth pulled out, in an emotional sense, but thankfully, it was over quite quick.

However, as he reached for the phone, intent  to write an explaining caption, only the menu screen blinked up at him, one more message in his outbox.

Charles spun around.  “Raven!  You can’t do that, what will he think?”

“All the right things,” was all she said, and took a big swig of eggnog. “Merry Christmas, big brother.”


	20. Sweaters

It was no secret Charles had an affiliation for ugly sweaters.

For as long as Erik had paid attention to it, Charles had dressed in what Emma and Raven referred to as ‘old fart style’ – pullovers over shirts, thick woolen cardigans and knitted sweaters. It got even worse when winter came around, with layers upon layers of colorful knitwear that would have Erik swelter in minutes. Charles, however, seemed perfectly content - despite having to get a coat two sizes too big to fit over all of his added bulk.

Not that Erik had anything against it. The cardigans were just as intrinsic to Charles as his freckles, shortness and silver blue presence. And they were always so soft to the touch, soaked in Charles’ scent and lavender laundry detergent. Erik wouldn’t be lying if he said that if Charles really put in an effort, he could probably convert him at least halfway into knit-wear territory simply due to that softness.

Sometimes, Erik was afraid his transformation into fashion-ignorant-grandpa territory had already begun. But then he was violently brought back to reality and the impossibility of such a thing once again.

Exhibit A: Today.

“You can’t be serious.”

Still red-nosed from the bright cold outside, Charles stopped unbuttoning his coat. “What is it?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” Erik said, pointing at Charles’ stomach.

Following the direction of Erik’s finger, Charles looked down at his sweater. “Oh,” he said, seemingly unfazed as he sent Erik a beaming smile. “The washing machine broke yesterday. So it was either this or to borrow something from Raven.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “You had nothing else?”

“I have no troubles with fluid gender expression,” Charles said, threading his snow-spotted coat onto a hanger. "But it was simply too cold to forego pants today.”

Shaking his head, Erik took the hanger from Charles’ hands and hanged it on the rack out of his reach. Both Erik and his mother were relatively tall people, and so Charles’ shortness always amplified when he came to visit. The bathroom mirror only showed his eyebrows and if Erik wasn’t there, he had to climb onto the counter to reach the mugs in the kitchen cupboard above the sink.

“Nice that you considered wearing a dress,” Erik told him, before he turned back to his room, Charles following his trail. “But it doesn’t erase the fact that  _that_  will stare at me whenever I look at you.”

“My eyes are on my face, you know,” Charles said slyly, closing the door behind him before he plumped down on Erik’s bed. The springs creaked in time with the snapping pipes as he pulled his legs up to get comfortable and spread his homework out in front of him. It was the last week of school, so the load wasn't that heavy. Erik had put off some to do over the small break as there were no holidays for him to celebrate, but Charles was always set on having everything done by the time school let out for the last time of the year.

Ignoring him, Erik continued. “You’re the one wearing the deranged reindeer on your chest, not me. It’s staring.”

To that, Charles just snorted. “He’s just a bit lop-sided,” he grinned, flipping a page in his textbook and skimming the page, comparing it to his notes.

“It has beady eyes. It looks like it’s possessed,” Erik murmured, spinning his desk chair around to pick up the PCB he’d fiddled with before Charles arrived. Sitting at an angle, the beady eyes of the leering, unhinged reindeer only appeared in his peripheral. If he looked on it head-on as he’d done in the hallway, those black, bottomless eyes almost seemed to stare into Erik’s soul and slowly corrupting him.

He would never admit it out loud, but his spine tingled every time he caught it in corner of his eye, even though he tried not to look at it. On top of it, it was slightly too small. The cuffs sat snugly a couple of inches above Charles’ wrists and when he leaned over to double check his answers, it slid up his stomach, showing off a nice stripe. Something which did  _not_  improve things in the slightest.

“I think you’re displacing your annoyance with Stryker onto poor Rudolph here, which both of us find a tad bit unfair,” Charles said, patting on of the reindeer’s ear in the corner of Erik’s eye.

“It’s  _not_ sentient,” Erik hissed, more to himself than to Charles.

“Maybe it’s tapping into my telepathy,” Charles' grin was evident in his voice. “Slowly, invading –”

“Shut it,” Erik grumbled and Charles burst out laughing – his deep, oddly fitting chuckle that Erik had always found so comforting, even when they were kids. Then again, Charles had been precocious already back then, when his mind was nothing more than a warm veil around Erik’s.

The springs creaked behind him. “Come here, you silly thing,” Charles said, spinning his chair around and grabbing Erik’s hands.

He yanked, and Erik tumbled out of the chair. Nearly knocking into Charles’ forehead, Erik caught himself with a knee on the edge of the bed just before they slammed together. They were so close, Erik could feel the light puffs of Charles’ breaths against his lips, making them tingle. And his eyes seemed to melt into each other, blue and infinite and not for the first time, Erik found himself thinking just how beautiful Charles was, no matter how stupid he could be.

_says the master genius magneto_

No, erase that. Charles was just stupid – his only characteristics were stupid and stupid. Period.

“Now, that’s simply not true,” Charles said, still grinning as he gently pressed a kiss to the corner of Erik’s mouth, effectively snagging Erik’s retort right from his lips. “Besides, I solved your problem.”

Erik pulled back slightly. “You’re still wearing it.”

“Which won’t be a problem if you were actually only looking at my face,” Charles corrected, and pulled him back in.

They fell onto the bed; carefully kissing and letting hands roam. There was no rush about it at all, no goal in sight as they lay side by side. Intensity moved in waves; going frantic for a few moments, before slowing down to simple pecks again. It wasn’t such a bad idea, until Erik realized that having those eyes look at him from the floor was ten times worse than when they were attached to an extenuating Charles.

“I’m burning your sweater.”

“I’ll put it away tomorrow,” Charles mumbled and gripped his chin and kissed him again. He grinned, nipping at Erik’s lips as he slid short stubby fingers into Erik’s hair and then it was just futile to resist.

Charles was too nice to pass upon – deranged reindeer audience or not.


	21. Fog

It had taken Charles almost all of high school to understand exactly how affected Erik was by the lack of light.

From the moment he started to notice it, he’d attested the mood swings to a part of Erik’s otherwise capricious personality. Charles might be one to understand and tolerate a great deal of bullshit, but he’d be a fool to deny that his boyfriend could be a pain in the ass from time to time, just as he himself could. So, he hadn’t exactly realized that there was a pattern to the periods when Erik would fold into himself, get extra mean and snappish while he sleepwalked through the days with bruises under his eyes.

The fall that year had been especially dreary. Cold, wet and covered in an impenetrable blanket of clouds, the sun had been a rare sighting. Sources said there had been only two hours of sunlight all November. And it wasn’t as if those hours had been continuous either. Rather, there had been a series of glimpses here and there when most people either were in school or at work.

So, in hindsight, the fact that Erik had a dip were he was all but atrocious should not have been that much of a surprise.

 “So what do you think?”   

Standing on the bed, Charles put his hands on his hips and admired his work. He’d brought over a leftover coil of fairy lights he’d found the box back in Westchester and decided to put it to better use. Now, stapled to the walls of Erik’s  dim-lit room, it spread a speckled spray of shining dots over the furniture. The mirror multiplied them, making the room all but sparkle.

From his place on the floor, Erik looked up from his History textbook. His eyes swept around the room before he shrugged. “It’s fine.”

 “Good!” 

Charles sunk down on the bed, his knees on either side of Erik’s shoulders. As he  then leaned forward, he buried his nose in Erik’s hair. He’d always loved Erik’s hair. Maybe not as much as Erik loved his, but there was a charm to that deep auburn color and how it glinted  red when the sun caught it at the right angle. It was due to a cut, some of the longer strands starting to curl against the skin of the nape of his neck. Erik, ever the pragmatic, preferred it cut just a few inches of his skull.  So Charles  took the chance to indulge now that it actually was a bit longer.

 Charles had just drawn in a deep, apple-scented breath, when Erik twisted away. “Don’t you have homework to do?” he muttered, scooting out from between Charles’ legs.

Hiding his disappointment, Charles let out a sigh. At least Erik’s touch had been gentle. “I finished it up in school. Bio let out early.”

“Then why come here and bother me?"

Charles bit back his retort, forcing himself to remember that Erik probably didn’t mean it. Not really. “I wanted to see you,” he tried, sliding his fingers into Erik’s hair again.

“And you didn’t see enough in school?” Erik said, voice monotone as he turned another page. The rustle was deafening.

Charles studied the white, illuminated dots on the floor and the walls. It was easy enough to draw imaginary lines between them to form constellations, and made it easier to not snap back or even sigh. Erik cleared his throat.

“Did you come here for some special reason?”

Hand still in Erik’s hair, Charles turned to him. “No? But Raven has a dance show later tonight, and it’s closer from here.”

Erik turned another page, trying to lean his head away from Charles' hand again. “Tell her to break a leg.”

Charles frowned. “Won’t you come with me?”

“I have homework,” Erik said, pointing at his spread book. “And I don’t have super-human reading speed.”

“It’ll only be an hour. Besides, Raven will be glad to see you.”

“I need to turn this in tomorrow.”

“You need to get out a bit more, Erik. We can come straight back –”

“I don’t _care_ , Charles!” Erik snapped, teeth bared and his hands gripping the book, “I’m exhausted and I don’t care about some damn dance show! Take a hint.” He swatted at Charles’ hand, making it let go of his hair again. “You’re supposed to be the _genius_ here so leave me the fuck alone!”

Charles flinched. He wasn’t even going to deny it.

With a surgical precision, those exact words  had cut through all his perfected layers of objectivity and protective thoughts. They had pierced through layers of _bear with it_ , _stay positive_ , _this isn’t Erik_ , _just a few more days now_ – and went right for his soft core; the center where the doubt lay nestled against his indignation, curled around his insecurities. They cut the worn-out shell, splitting it open - letting the hours of disinterested company, sighs and mean comments he’d put up with  shoot through him like a poisonous injection of pure disgust.

He got up, hands shaking.

“Fine. Forget it,” he said, his chest too tight, like strings pulling his ribs in with every word. “I’m going home.”

“Fine,” Erik bit back, resolutely staring into that book as Charles walked out and slammed the door shut behind him, making the windows rattle.

But as soon as he was out of Erik’s sight, Charles felt his face crumble.

It was one of the few things he actually hated about himself. He was often content with who he was, telepathy and all, but the fact that he couldn’t even sustain his anger without resolving to tears was not one of them. It was humiliating, and there was no way he’d let Erik mock him for that in this state. Not when the anger was still burning inside of him - acidic and bitter in every corner of his body as he yanked his coat of the hanger and located his shoes.

Sniffling furiously under his breath he pulled them out from where they’d jammed themselves between the shoe rack and the wall. And he’d already pulled one on when he saw that in his hurry to get ready with lights, he’d ripped the lace clear of the eyelets, save for the last two.

Charles stared for a moment, frustration boiling like he’d rarely felt it before.

His vision blurry for the damn tears and hands shaking, he started to lace them again. It was a slow process, and he was on the verge of giving up and simply march out in his socks, when he heard a door open further into the apartment.

Steps approached, and he looked up just in time for Erik’s shadow to fall over him.

“Charles, I – are you crying?”

Setting his jaw, Charles dropped the laces not looking at Erik’s face.  “So what?” he gritted out, rubbing at his eye as if he could press the damn tears back into his eyes with force alone. Then he returned to the lacing.

Erik was quiet for a long time. Then he sank to his knees too.

“You don’t need to cry, Charles,” he said, quiet and hoarse. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Charles snapped back, yanking the laces too tight. “I’m angry, Erik, that’s why I’m crying!”

Erik didn’t look directly at him for a long time. Instead, his eyes flickered over and around Charles’ head before they finally settled on the floor.

“I wanted to apologize” he started.

“So you think so? Good,” Charles bit at him, tying a bow on his right boot.

“It’s just,” Erik raked his hands through his hair, almost as if he wanted drag out the black, smoke-like fog that coated his mind like crude oil by the roots alone. As if he could pull out the same fog that had kept Charles out of his mind for almost three weeks.  “It won’t go away, Charles. No matter how I try and it just makes me so _frustrated_. Because I can’t do anything to stop it.”

When he said it, all the tense steel in his face seemed to melt away. His eyes seemed eerily hollow and Charles found some of his anger slowly siphoning out when he realized just how dark the bruised circles under Erik’s eyes actually were.

He dropped the laces again.

“It’s not that I don’t understand that, Erik. I do,” he said, slowly. “I’ve done all the reading I can. I’ve dealt with this just as much as you have these last couple of years. I cannot wholly relate, but your mind is so unpleasant at the moment, even I shy from it. I cannot imagine how it is to be stuck in there.”

He took a breath as he felt Erik closing his hand around his, bony fingers gripping it tight.

“That’s why I come over. Not to bother you, but to make sure you’re not alone, even though you think you want to be. But that doesn’t mean I’m your punching bag. You really can’t take it out on me all the time, simply because I’m the only one to stick around,” Charles said, squeezing back just as tight. “Okay?”

Erik’s eyes slipped shut and he nodded, jaw set.

“Okay?” Charles said again.

“Yeah,” Erik said, and stroked his thumb over the pulse point on Charles wrist. “I know”.

“I tolerate rather more than I should,” Charles admitted. “So you may complain and grumble all you want. I’ll listen. But please stop lashing out at me? I’m not invincible.”

At that, he managed to coax a laugh out of Erik for the first time in weeks. “I think some would claim otherwise.”

“Well, let's just say they’re wrong. I do have morals.”

Overhead, the light in the hallways blinked twice. Charles looked up and realized that he’d finally stopped crying.

“I can’t promise anything,” Erik then said, voice thin. His mouth unzipped into a lopsided, slightly defeated grin. “But I’ll try. That I can do. It shouldn’t keep up for much longer anyways.”

Charles swallowed, chest tight again. “That’s good enough for me,” he said, finding that he actually meant it.

At that, Erik rose onto his knees and pulled Charles tight against him, his face tucked into Charles’ neck. Charles hesitated first, but then he held Erik back, once again reminding himself that his boyfriend would come back with the light, just as Persephone did.

“Do we still have time for Raven’s show?” Erik asked. "Because I could go. If you want me to."

Looking at his wristwatch, Charles nodded. “Of course. If we leave now, we have time.”

“Okay. Let’s go then.”

Charles didn’t bother to contain his smile as he kissed the corner of Erik’s mouth. “All right.”


	22. Holiday Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes.

For the last year and a half, Charles had taken extra Organic Chemistry and Genetics classes at Mercy college. Two study hall periods scheduled back to back enabled for subway travel into the city and back as long as ten minutes were cut from lunch break. At the end of term, it was starting to get tiring to ride back and forth twice a week, but it was doable, as long as he didn’t forget anything back at the high school.

On the very last day of term, Erik decided to contradict his mother’s “no Charles during Hanukkah” to meet up with him on campus, rather than have him take the thirty minute commute back to school just to pick up his last few textbooks.

In the middle of finals week, finding seats in any of the coffee shops around campus was a one in a life-time chance. Just as they’d gotten their drinks, a young couple rose from one of the window seats, and Charles didn’t even look to see if Erik was behind him as he power-walked to the two seats; claiming them just as a group of desperate-looking college students perked their heads up like dogs.

Erik folded into the seat across from him, struggling a bit as he pulled his hat off at the same time. The cold winds outside had calmed, but in their absence, the snowfall had just gotten heavier. 

There were still a few flakes stuck in his long lashes. “You’re lucky this year,” he said, curling his hands around his steaming cup. 

Charles stopped his pouring of another packet of sugar in his tea. “Hmm?”

“School letting out early. Last year you had to go in on morning of the twenty-first, didn't you?” 

“Very true, yes,” Charles smiled. “Please don’t remind me. I don’t know if I approve of the whole the Saturday morning class thing all that much to be honest. I prefer to sleep in.”

“Don’t I know it,” Erik muttered, and Charles just swatted at his arm. 

“Hey! I’m not that bad.”

“Oh, you’re not?” Erik raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile ticking at the corner of his mouth. “Who was still asleep when I called at eleven last Sunday? How do you live with yourself?”

“This is the definition of bullying,” Charles grumbled, causing Erik to laugh.

“Well, now you have holiday break for two weeks, so you can sleep in all you want,” he said. “Best way to avoid family time, right?” 

Charles felt the smile freeze on his face, just as Erik directed his eyes out the window to study the small snow chaos outside; completely unaware of what he’d just said.

It had been six years, almost to the day, since Brian had called that last time. The call had been bland, simply stating he’d be late home from a meeting in the city and would drive home despite the weather. Charles remembered it clearly, because he’d been sitting in the kitchen, as usual, doing homework together with Raven, while Mother had been in the den, watching a period drama on the television. She’d been the one to answer, out in the hall, and so, the last time Charles had heard his father’s voice was that very same morning, saying, “Take care today, son.”

Brian Xavier hadn’t been the perfect father. Far from it. As so many upper-class parents before him, he’d been a distant workaholic  and only taking his time with his children when it suited him. But, for all of that, he had tried, and had stood for most of the warmth and the holiday spirit in the Xavier Mansion once Christmas came around. 

It was that Charles missed, most of all.

He didn’t realize he’d been spacing out until Erik tapped the back of his hand, frowning slightly. “Hey, what is it?”

Charles looked up, shaking his head. “Nothing. Well… no, nothing important.”

He smiled into his drink, unsure of how or if to continue. One part of wanted to stop there, let things remain unharmed and unsaid. It wasn’t something that had to be discussed after all, and it would do nothing but cause unnecessary harm. On the other hand, there was the truth; practice open communication and all.

However, just as he did not speak to Erik about Mother, or Kurt, he wouldn’t speak about Brian, either, even though Erik had been one of the few to actually stick around when Charles’ shields had gotten nearly translucent in the time after. It had made him hyper-sensitive to emotions from those around, and thus made him all but catatonic more than once; stuck in his own head, filled with so much hurt or fear it felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

Erik had always been good at keeping his thoughts to himself – thanks to being a bit naturally telepathy resistant – so he’d kept being at Charles’ side, never mind the way too frequent breakdowns during the course of the following months. Charles really couldn’t thank him enough for that. 

But that didn’t mean it would be alright for him to drag up the subject of Brian, which inevitable would lead to the topic of fathers, and subsequently to Erik’s own.

Erik's father had died when Erik was quite young; enough that Erik had a few memories and remembered his face, that he had been gentle but stern. That was all that Charles knew, because that was the extent of what Erik was willing to share. Early on, it had been become an unspoken rule that it was never to be talked about ever again, and especially not somewhere Edie could overhear them. It was just how things were, so Charles had no doubts Erik would understand.

Now, Erik had an unhappy expression, one that he probably didn’t know was a obvious as he thought. “Fine,” he said and took a swig of the black coffee Charles had bullied him into ordering. “If you don’t want to tell me.”

Charles sighed, suddenly very tired. “It’s not that, Erik. Stop it, please.”

Erik tapped his fingers on the table-top, restless. “You completely spaced out, Charles. I had to say your name four times, okay?” 

Charles dragged his hands over his face.“I was merely thinking. About my father,” he then said, before he could stop himself. If it was for the petty reason that Erik had asked, well, then so be it.

He more felt than saw Erik stiffen in his seat. It lasted only a second, though, and then he relaxed again, his posture changed completely. “Oh. It’s... the anniversary is coming up soon, right?”

Nodding, Charles crooked his finger in the ear of his cup. “Tomorrow, yes. Sixth one.”

His vision started to blur out as he couldn’t focus on anything nearby. It wasn’t tears. He’d stopped crying about it a long time ago, so really shouldn’t be affecting him this much any longer, but still, it always did. Loss was just a part of life. It was what happened, and you merely picked yourself up and you went on with your life. You concentrated on anything and everything that had nothing to do with family or emotions, you stayed away from alcohol like the plague and you only took breaks from studying to play video games with your sister. You turned the other way as your mother succumbed to alcoholism and re-married and you buried everything so deep down it would never resurface, because you had no need for that at all.

As his vision refocused, it did so right on Erik’s face, and his deep frown and thin mouth.

“I don’t want you to go back there. I want you to stay at my place tonight,” he said, voice so oddly soft Charles nearly didn’t hear him. “Raven too, if she wants to. Can ask Mom and she’ll put up the sofa bed even.”

Charles smiled at him, knowing it wasn’t half of his usual one. “I’d love to, but Erik, it’s Hanukkah and I don’t want to impose – “

He’d barely started the sentence before Erik grabbed his hand. “You won’t, and you  _ know  _ she won’t care. Well, as long as you light the candles with us, she won’t. You know some of the prayers already, so you’ll be fine. You’re practically family already.”

For a moment, Charles couldn’t do else but look at Erik; the determined set of his jaw, his sincere eyes and wonder how he’d managed to charm this boy to the point where he was his. 

Erik was still looking at him, all expectations . “So what do you say?”

Taking Erik’s warm hand in both of his, Charles brought it up and kissed his knuckles. As he saw the tips of Erik’s ears go red and hot, he nodded. 

“As said, I’d love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: discussion of loss of parents at a young age, a somewhat unhealthy view of loss and grief that may be triggering for some.


	23. Touch

With Edie out playing poker with some of the ladies from the temple, it had been no question about whether they should head back to Erik’s or not.

By now, MPE members had basically overtaken the whole apartment. Some people sat at the kitchen table or the counters, while others ate sitting right on the floor or just any surface flat enough that you could balance a cardboard plate with ease. Empty take out containers were stacked on the coffee table, but Erik honestly didn’t have the energy to get up and put them away just yet.

The television screen flickered with the blue-tinted flames of a movie – _The Incredibles_ if he remembered correctly – and out in the kitchen, Alex and Armando were chatting loudly, immersed in some weird card game they’d taken up after people got bored with the dreidel. Angel and Betsy had all but disappeared, but knowing them, they were probably snooping around, looking for Erik’s room for any type of blackmail material.  

Raven lay knocked out on her front half on top of a sleeping – and not in a very lady like manner – snoring Emma. During the course of the night, Erik had slowly but surely been pushed off his own couch and forced to sit on the floor like a peasant. Charles sat beside him, looking at the movie with glazed-over eyes, warm and content along his side. In the light, he was even paler than before, his freckles like inverted stars in the sky of his skin and as Erik’s gaze stopped there, he could see the small movement of the carotid pulsating by Charles’ throat, ticking away.

Something about that must have tipped Charles off, because he tilted his head back then, smiling lazily.

“You’re staring again,” he whispered, eyes glimmering as his hand snuck around Erik’s waist, bunching up his sweater.

Erik decided not to do anything about it. “You noticed?”

Charles smiled at that, re-positioning his legs so he could lean more of his weight into Erik, who was supported by the couch. “Of course.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yes. Being the center of your attention is rather pleasant, I'll have you know.”

Erik raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, I have to keep an eye on you, don’t I?”

“It’s different now, though,” Charles said, his voice almost inaudible in the noise from the movie. Still, the change of cadence was more than noticeable. “More purposeful.”

He turned his head into the crook of Erik’s neck. “Better,” he breathed, and started to mouth at his neck.

The first touch of Charles’ lips was, as always, warm and smooth, at the same time it was like taking a hit to a pressure point. All at once, all of the muscles in Erik’s body relaxed, liquefied and turned ready to sink through the floor, only to tense up in the next as Charles trailed higher, to the sensitive area right behind his ear and Erik had to bite his lip not to let out some sort of highly embarrassing sound – like the needy whimper threatening at the back of his throat.

All the while there were people seriously two inches from his head.

“Charles, I don’t think – “

Charles’ hand, the one that had been lying on top of his thigh moved up to his shoulder, fingers digging in a little more to let him feel the five points of pressure through the fabric. Erik tilted his head, catching Charles’ eyes.  

“They’re asleep, Erik. Relax, darling.”

Erik caught his eyes, just as a silver blue ripple of amusement coupled with something less defined latticed behind Erik’s own. Sensing it form, his throat went dry, and he cast a look over his shoulder.

It wasn’t really a secret that Charles and PDA were thick as thieves. If he was tactile with other people, it was on another level entirely when he had a significant other. Not in the sexual sense, just in the intensity and frequency with which he touched them.

Erik, on the other hand, had never been big on that. Ever since childhood he’d gotten chills down his spine whenever someone touched him first, with or without warning, deliberate or not. It was essentially only his mother – and Charles –  that he tolerated it from on a regular basis. Probably because they always had been, and they did no harm. However, this made touch, any sort of it, feel as if his skin was on fire; made it oddly sensitive and, consequently, intimate. Too intimate to easily share with others. It could between a rock and a hard place sometime, when he managed to admit to himself that he was touch starved, but the thought of asking for it outweighing it by tenfold.

Erik knew Charles, physical extrovert as he was, wouldn't quite understand that trepidation. Not that he’d tried to explain it. It simply felt too abstract and unnecessary to bring up, especially considering that this new level of touch him and Charles had engaged in for the last two weeks was something Erik wouldn’t trade the world for.

So without anymore thought, he leaned down to catch Charles’ alluring mouth in a quiet kiss to distract from his own thoughts. Charles hummed against his mouth, smiling still as he slid his other hand up to Erik’s shoulder, effectively all but crawling into his lap like a warm, affable cat.  

“You think so much,” he said, once he’d made himself comfortable over Erik’s thighs. He didn’t seem to be aware that he was still caressing Erik’s arm.

Erik scoffed. “Hypocrite,” he said, but softened the blow by burying his nose in Charles’ hair.

Charles breathed out a laugh through his nose. “Yes, alright. You got me. However, I think I’m rather excused since half of the thoughts aren’t mine.”

“Good point,” Erik agreed.

At that, Charles tilted his head back and smirked. “It is, isn’t it?” he said, and Erik merely rolled his eyes at him.

“You are too proud of yourself. It wasn’t _that_ good of a point.”

“If you say so,” Charles replied, before he went back to mouthing at Erik’s neck, and in doing so, succeeding in completely derailing the conversation without further notice.


	24. Trivial Pursuit

Initially, Raven had been the one who really wanted to play. Not that Charles would have said no – boardgames had been a big part of their childhood – but the fact that it took nearly half an hour to find the damn game nearly put him out of the spirit. Thankfully, Erik finally found the old Trivial Pursuit and after some persuasion mainly in the form of Edie looking so excited, Charles had decided to go with it after all.

By now, they had one wedge each, and he and Erik were steadily in the lead. Charles popped a candy cane into his mouth and picked up another card.

“Art and Literature. Who is the author of ‘ _ The Brothers Karamazov _ ’?”

Across from the table, Raven sighed, throwing her arms out. “No idea. Edie?” 

“I think I know. Let me just choose the right Russian,” Edie said, leaning her head on her fist in thought. “Dostoyevsky, isn’t it?” 

Charles nodded. “Correct! Was his last novel, actually, completed in 1880,” he added as he threw the dice again. It was a bit troublesome moving their piece while his feet were in Erik’s lap, but leaning his elbow on the table, he caught it between his fingers.

When he’d dropped it in the right spot, Raven narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s not fair how you remember that!” she said, sounding incredulous. “Did we even read about him in English class?”

Charles just shook his head, smiling, only making her pout. “So not fair,” she muttered.

On the board, they’d landed on a yellow mark, and Edie picked up a card and tilted her glasses down to read the question. “The terror organization  _ Brotherhood of Mutants _ began under what name?”

Without hesitation, Charles passed the question to Erik with a flourish of his hand.

“ _ The Hellfire Club _ ,” Erik aid, all sexy, grinning confidence and dug his thumb into the hollow of Charles’ foot. Charles nearly tipped his head back and just moaned out of pleasure, but there was a time and a place for such things. 

Putting the card at the bottom of the stack, Edie looked at Raven sitting beside her. “That was too easy for him. I thought these questions were supposed to be hard!” 

“They are harder, Ma. It’s not a well known fact. It was only for three years back in the sixties, in the middle of the Civil Rights Movement and they’ve done everything to sweep that name under the rug, since they have different objectives now.”

“Yes, we know you’re a Brotherhood nerd, now stop showing off,” Raven stuck her tongue out  at Erik and tossed the dice for her and Edie again, moving them to the Geography Headquarter. “Hit us with one, please.”

Erik gave Charles a tired look, but picked up a card, his hand stroking absently along Charles’ thigh, thumb grazing along the seams. “Right. Yellowknife was the first town in which Canadian state?”

“Gotta be one of the northern ones, right?” Raven said, turning to Edie to discuss their answer.

Nearly two hours later, the game was still going. Edie’s many museum trips coupled with Raven’s extensive knowledge of TV-shows had turned out to be a lethal combination, and despite a few set-backs in the beginning they were now beginning to catch up.  It was only thanks to Charles knowing a bit about a few scandals that he and Erik had gotten their own pink wedge and could stay in the lead, never mind how badly they’d fared.

Charles watched in rapt attention as Erik threw the dice  for the last time. It bounced over the board, and he couldn’t hold back a little triumphant shout as it fell on a four; landing them square in the Hub.

“Look at that! You’re actually useful at times!” he said, and patted Erik’s cheek, making him twist away with a laugh.

“Stop it,” he said weakly, and Charles obeyed and looked over the table instead.

Across from them, Raven was grinning maliciously. “And now we get to choose your topic,” she said, rocking her chair back on its hind legs. “What do you think, Edie? What would do the most damage?”

With a competitive streak on par with her son’s, Charles knew they couldn’t count on Edie for mercy either. “How about Entertainment?” 

“If they get a Harry Potter one though, we’re done for,” Raven said solemnly. “Charles remembers everything.”

“Indeed. Sports and Leisure seems to be their Achilles heel, though?”

“It’s worth a try.”

“You’re giving us Sports?” Charles whined, to which Raven just nodded and picked up a card from the stack. “Come on, Raven!”

“Yes, we are. Now, answer right, and you might win. The Summer Olympics in… damn it!”

“What?” 

“Just look at this stupid nonsense.” Raven showed the card to Edie, who immediately started laughing.

“Oh no. But you’ve started reading the question; might as well finish, dear.”

“I guess,” Raven muttered. “Right. So, the Summer Olympics in 1996 were cut short with three days due to what?” she sighed, and once again, Charles just leaned his head onto Erik’s shoulder and let him answer his question.

“The terrorist attack on the Golden Gate Bridge,” Erik supplied, spinning their piece around. “That means we won, right?”

Raven simply pouted as she started packing the game back together, Edie patting her back and saying, “We’ll take them next time around.”

“Next time, we’re switching teams. Charles will be with us, and Erik can play by himself. He won’t stand a chance,” she said.

For a moment Erik didn’t do anything, but then he suddenly looped his arms around Charles and effectively pulled him into his lap with such force the chair nearly toppled over. Yelping, Charles only managed to save them by grabbing onto the table right before they tipped over completely.

“ _ Erik _ !”

“Sorry, but they’re not getting you,” Erik said, petting his hair, his hold still possessive and strong around Charles’ waist. 

“No need to be so violent though,” Charles mumbled back. “I wouldn’t want to go.”

“You’re such a traitor,” Raven muttered, but Charles only ignored her and planted a quick kiss on Erik’s waiting mouth.

 


	25. New Year's Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six less than intended, but I do feel this is a good note to end things on! 
> 
> Happy New Year!

It was half an hour to midnight when Emma slid up behind him, one arm wrapping around his waist.

“You lost the grandpa cardigan, Xavier – makes me proud,” she said, leaning her cheek against Charles’ shoulder with a sigh.

“I’m sure it does,” Charles told her, smiling. He’d forgone his very comfortable clothes this evening for something more daring, although the white button down with a popped second button and the waistcoat had all been Raven’s idea. So had the bottle of hairspray she’d forced into his hair to keep his curls in place. If he was to be honest, Charles felt as if he was wearing some sort of helmet instead of his own usually soft mop.

It was a very weird feeling.

Sipping her champagne flute, Emma raised an impeccable eyebrow. “So, is our boy Lehnsherr on his way or not?”

Barely hiding his own disappointment, Charles unconsciously patted his phone. Still silent in his pocket. “He and Kitty are still cleaning out the salons.”

“Working? On New Year’s Eve?” Emma pursed her mouth, pouting. “Ditching my party? What manners.”

A cold, glossy film slipped over his mind filled with utter disappointment and a pinch of hurt pride as she sniffed. Charles just shook his head at her, recognizing an intoxicated mind when he saw one. “They were done a couple of minutes ago, so they should be on their way.”

“Whatever. Unlike you, they’re mongrels, both of them,” Emma said, patting his chest with the back of her hand before she strutted away again, short white dress swishing around her thighs as she slid up to Scott Summers, cold as ever.

Once she’d disappeared, Charles pulled out his phone again, disposing his champagne on the stereo. He hadn’t drunk from it –  even though he’d been assured that it was supposed to be alcohol free and that it worked to distract him from whatever that was so important he could sit down in the damn couch and socialize a bit, really Charles! – but not because of spite.

Instead he’d ignored Raven’s implore and gone off to the corner– which she seemed to have forgotten about and were now sitting sideways in Azazel Rasputin’s lap, giggling –   since he couldn’t get Erik off his mind, he could at least choose what music was to be played. Now, the enticing beat of an Irish jig was playing due to a request from Sean – who was hopping around with Moira in the little space between the two sofas – but none of the other people around seemed to care in the slightest, sitting and standing around while chatting and laughing wildly to one another over the music.

If Charles were to lace his telepathy over the room, he was certain it’d fill him with second-hand contentment, a slight buzz and a lot of excitement – the perfect atmosphere for any New Year’s Eve.

 

But it wouldn’t be authentic. Charles checked his phone one more time, before he slid it back into his pocket for the third time that evening. He told himself wouldn’t check it again until it buzzed. If Erik was late, then he had to live with that.

He didn’t want to think too much about it.

After a while, Betsy came over to put on some Taylor Swift and Charles left her to it and ventured out on the balcony for a bit. The sky was clear, save for a few trails of smoke caused by some too-eager fireworks and a few airplanes, but otherwise the deep indigo of the December night with its thousands upon thousands of inverted dots was looking down on him with its omnipresent gaze, scrutinizing him and his thoughts.

It was such a silly thing – no religious significance, not even a superstitious one, but simply out of pure sentimental reasons. Or possible future sentimental ones – it was a memory that Charles desperately wanted to have, imperfections an all as long as it happened.

However, it only worked if Erik was _here_.

Letting out a deep breath, Charles watched the cold cloud sail off into the air, dissolving into nothing against the light beneath him. He stuck his arms in his armpits and wondered not for the first time why Erik was taking so long. He might have been confident when talking to Emma, but while Charles didn’t have any doubt Erik would show up, he was worried he was going to miss the New Year.

Last night, he’d stayed late at Erik’s before sneaking home for a change of clothes, and the words Erik had said to him, body warm and panting behind him still rung in his head, resonating like a chime.

_I’m done waiting, you know. I have you and you have me, and we have to make the most of it._

Three years. A sixth of their lives, wanting the same things but so oblivious it almost ruined them. They really were the densest people on this planet, Charles thought to himself, before he quietly slipped inside again, the cold becoming too sharp against his bare skin.

And then, as he went to pick up his glass – still perched on the stereo because no one would forego an abandoned glass if there was fresh alcohol in the kitchen – he felt it.

That familiar brightness – not unlike the stars in the sky outside – white and efficient, passionate and at the moment very stressed, still warm and gleaming like a fire in the middle of winter, but also like a reflection of the sun on the wall, bouncing of a mirror or the bracelet Charles always wore around the wrist he’d broken in seventh grade, so close he could almost taste it.

Emma stood up from the couch, leaning against Scott’s side for balance as she raised her flute towards the ceiling.

“Time for countdown!” she yelled, and all at once every one stood up, rising like a choreographed wave.

For a moment, Charles couldn’t breathe. They were going to miss it.

“ _Ten! Nine!_ ”

Erik wasn’t here.

“ _Eight!_   _Seven!_   _Six!_ ”

Suddenly, Erik and someone else riding in the elevator –

“ _Five!_ ”

Charles put his empty glass down on the stereo, not registering as it tipped over, rolled onto the floor, someone came out of the elevator, running so fast –

“ _Four!_ ”

The door in the hall opened, Erik bursting in first, his hair a mess, mussed from the wind, Gryffindor scarf around his neck, catching Charles’ eyes with his beautiful ones –

“ _Three!_ ”

The line into the hallways was clear. Charles locked his eyes with Erik. He ran.

“ _Two!_ ”

Erik’s eyes widening taking in all that was happening –

“ _One!_ ”

Charles jumped.

“ _Happy New Year!_ ”

As predicted, Erik caught him with ease as Charles threw himself into his arms, locking his legs tightly around his impossibly narrow hips and pressing his lips against Erik’s with such force they almost toppled over right there in the hallway. Around them, people cheered, kissed, hugged and popping rockets, but neither of them heard or saw it. Charles didn’t care.

It was a kiss filled with every bit of longing and desperation and cluelessness and adoration they had endured over these years, finally blooming into something tangible and real. It was so charged, Charles could swear he saw a static spark as they separated, flushed and bright-eyed.

“Happy New Year,” he whispered.

“Happy New Year,” Erik said, hands running over Charles’ stiff hair in an attempt to free it from its bonds. “God, you weigh a _lot_.”

“Shut up, fridge magnet.” Charles kissed him again, smiling softly. “And you made it.”

Loosening his hold, Erik let him slide back onto the floor, but never letting go completely. “I did. I promised I wouldn’t miss this.”

Steady on the ground again, Charles pressed his forehead to Erik’s chest – felt the rapid beat of his heart through his sweater and the tint of copper in his mind that told about how fast he’d run to arrive on time. He couldn’t stop smiling even he’d tried to. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Erik said, burrowing into his now loosened hair.

And something about that, how disheveled and happy and fond Erik looked just then and there, in front of everyone, so unashamed to finally show that he was indeed so passionate and capable of _love_ that made Charles want to kiss him all over again.

Instead, he did something entirely different.

“I love you,” he blurted out.

For a moment, Erik stiffened – probably becoming aware of all the people standing and sitting around looking at the pair of them there under the chandelier, still holding hands and each other – but in the end he seemed to dismiss it all, and turned to Charles again, cupping his face so incredibly gently it made something in Charles’ chest clench so tightly it made the back of his eyes burn.

“Love you too.”

The characteristic, slow, zipper smile spread Erik’s face into a radiating grin growing and suddenly - as the year renewed and turned on its axis -  there was no need for words.


End file.
